It’s
been its length, speeding through vertigo, or realized in visions: this
prophetic art, those prophetic eyes, or that endearing person: to meet so
early, while unidentified, at least to this mirror: this examination, racing
through corridors, where neck-ribs blend with gut-eyes: this small travesty,
this great tragedy, or neighbors casual with goodbyes: this princess tragedy,
those years to debating memories, or righteous and overzealous: this portrait
rendezvous, our souls interlocking, while agony walks away: that perfect
living-room, or carnival realities, while traipsing this haunted house: such
blurry tentacles, or bandit binoculars, as reaching for dreams: those azure
lenses, this pot of bisque, or late nights watching Roku: this Roca feeling, as
bent through webs, to admire Dr. Ambiguity: this forced thought, this pillaged
conscience, or years to vying for transference: our troubled inclinations, our
radical misprints, or years to relying upon something forfeited: this gambling
maniac, this liquor for resourcefulness, or sober lights speaking its insanity:
those constant layers, this strata of liars, or remorse for one easing into
home-plate: this tall tree, those perfected tiles, or body at joints breaking
bad news: our cyan faces, our camouflaged feelings, or this exhaustion coming
with tugging at whales: our English language, as underrated purely, where souls
are desperate for palms. I shift and
twirl, peering at glamour, where said glamour feels horrible: or radiant a
curse, to permit such beauty, for ugliness appears tragic: this heart of
firebricks, this tale of firebrand, where friction becomes intimate: this
constant application, where I must for breathing, if but to avoid an
intersection: those grave intra-vibes, or this impending impasse, while to
emerge as greater for sacrifice: this pillaged dream, those radiant gavels, or
this feeling in chains as if all is protected: our fabulous cries, this
aesthetic professor, or years to philosophical apologetics: to lose this life,
awaiting this grand deliverance, where participation is mandatory: our indigo
souls, our reluctant passions, or fantasies so rich they lead to orgasms. …our linen filthy, at medium blue
feelings, while fluffing our orchids: our minds clear, if but that infraction,
while human tendencies lead to excitement: that musty rose, that misty
heart-curve, or this angular portrait—as souls revving, or Chevy’s gliding, to
sip a martini and olive: this man to fashions, as garments arrive, where Love
is heart-to-brain in mere a t-shirt: this pale turquoise, this Puma
play-passion, or Nike’s running into pure admission: our submitted souls, this
marigold allergy, or allegories running into realities: this esthetic levity,
this rejected advance, or this man to thoughts that demand examination: those
filthy rulers, those puffy peaches, or this Asian nectarine…. I saw sea-green tides, as to encounter
steel-blue cries, while attempting to fix something that requires psychiatry:
this fool in men, this thistle as underrated, or years to researching
undulations: this Jewish maniac, this righteous disposition, or this Irish nun
bleeding resistance: those seventy years, those seventy smiles, to realize this
defective analyses: as wilder obsessions, or too far invested, while
neighboring monks are envied: as wild animals, struck with purpose, to feel
this absolute insanity: those sessions to screams, this subtle indoctrination,
while one dismisses pure agitation: as something minor, as ever it is, where tropical beauty becomes
extravagance: those aqua remissions, this rectitude encyclopedia, or years to
figuring just enough to remain confused: as livid iguanas, or paddling
sea-turtles, attempting a test by mandrill realities: this curse in souls this
must for identity, to realize this complex vex called, Psychology: that
intra/inter, this physiological response, or those Hoatzin voices: where Love
is agonizing, as time is revolving, to recognize that decades have tortured us.
