I
see doors, Love—as some are shut, while otherwise open: our daily hassles, our
leaping hearts, or those few fugitive(s): our bones speaking tribalism, our
guts whispering discontent, or our marrow seeping into realities: as old for
young, or young for old, around corners brandishing fire: this lady in silver,
this wretched torment, those miracle women: our Gwen Stefani, our lights for
machinery, our axioms for long-division.
I’m
lost for address, this bland language, or this mute channel: nonetheless, I
dance clouds; I’m up-side-down; while stressed for relieved: this trying
secret, this disenchantment, or years to three tears this soul scythed, those scissors leaking,
this faucet dripping resistance as
men seeking salvation, if but her eyes, if but her miracles: our changed
dispositions, or rapturous thoughts, to imagine justice, and thereto, become
attached: this filmy vision, this kleptic demon, while reality points to mental
madness: this detached attraction, this livid calmness, or those tinted
glasses: this window yelling, this psych administering, while nuns undress
deceptions: that cold power, those long nooses, or this gnarm barking with
dragon feet.
…by Rites
of Passage, Love—to have insistence, where souls are boiling: this shark at
home, this shark to spines, this daughter as part shark and dragon those inner movies, this deep confession; To travel where thoughts produced realities:
this foolish cello, this crutch for Love, this ruling fever: as arranged by
chaos, this typing participant, to realize that shoulders are carrying
opposites: that precious test, those analytical eyes, or that niche for
business—while reading knowledge or
collecting data or speaking tongues
with hummingbirds: this mocking song, to lose a lung, to rebuke a friend: this
travesty music this loyal
penguin or leopards rearranging
spots: our parents to souls, our daughters to marriage, our children running
into ponds: those meerkat mathematics
this hungry mongoose this
deceptive cobra: as feeling reality, to sing by passions, where rolling eyes
become endearing….
…we
agitate excitements, where dreams are forbidden, whilst Love saunters magic:
this webbed spider, this last figuration, our existential Incredible Hulks as wrestling screams to assist something normal where reflection wonders of its slice: that
portrait, this picture, this tableau—as gunning through exospheres while seated in esoteria as analyzed this Japanese reality: those
shaded arcs, this dismissal for some, this hardcore anger for father whereas, it feels important, if but to
express, such reaching loneliness….
We
subject ourselves, while lying as but normal, to pass an un-credited dream:
those rabid foreclosures, our crashing stock markets, our inner demolitions:
where professors dance, as psychs wave wands, while Life is there for deconstruction:
to participate, Love—to dance so freely, to paraglide with spirits, to create
turquoise fire that red lava, those
cherry picked eyes, to give this essence you’ll receive: our grannies mourning,
our fathers dying, where we persevere laughing at strangers that morning’s raccoon those starfish and sea-stars those red deer panic buttons at savannah cheers at lizard mania to realize snakes are repenting: this
island of miracles, this churned realism, or tasmanian-song-glints our bottled noses our
blue duck rivers or tomorrow painted
by impassivity: indeed, Love—to adore is easy, but pure imagination is
excruciating as emeralds chance, or
songbirds flip, indeed, this hidden language: our running guts, this beautiful
swan, to write and feel music.
