…we calculate beauty, we set standards, we
excuse souls for immorality: this preachy tone, this losing wealth, this kelp
upon sands: our morning alibis, if but to awaken, if but to dream-walk: those
perfect designs, that eloquent muscle, or those glamorous shovels—to blatant
his eyes, this swoosh with insanity, or acidic longevity: this senseless
dialogue, if but for capitalization, where Love tried beyond beauty: those
trenchant lifelines, this likeness to wombs, or this head-aching conglomerate:
as scruples reversed, or realities inverted, while aguish bats its eyelashes:
this churn about daughters, to forsaken his rights, in honor of religiosity:
those memoires, those portfolios, this mystic as danced his grave—at asunder laughing,
while pleasing crowds, to essence this burn languid upon floor tiles: our
shredded dignities, our twigs sparkling, or dynamics where losers give
graces. …at photos sipping, at
remorse dripping, while Love agonizes about ruining life: our trips to
graveyards or graffiti to headstones, where elation comes to warn about
sorrows: that vignette speaking, this indestructible woman, while days totter
about fences: but nestled in prose, to locate her future, this fine specimen
needing releases: our dropping hearts, our liquid encyclopedias, or etches to
screams livid this psychic dictionary: those forbidden cries, those forbidden
lights, as they rupture cutting into marrow—that bold glance, those silent
wings, while two are at throats for seeing reality: those lime-lights, this
basking semblance, or sunbathed contours destroying our perceptions: this
wretched millionaire, those treacherous care-worms, while billion dollar bodies
slip into madness: at heinous demands, or casual demands, to abort this life laughing
as winning: those serene eyes, filled with psych literature, while angered for
thoughts that came immediately: this seeing vessel, as born to addictions, where
perfume masked untamed odors. …its
anguish our sights, those pain-filled realities, or this person adorned in
worries concerned by infractions—those morbid years, this morbid curse, as
never a journey too far from our legacies: at stardust wishes, this mental
in-pouring, while undone but lavish those tiny eyes: this small castle, those unsung
wings, as dear to art this heart of trumpets: an inner adjective, or our
brain’s gumdrops, as magnets dispel this inner definition: our ribcage petals,
our sky water fires, where one last hit feels impossible. …those abstract wailings, our gothic treasuries,
or sudden this thought those pearls: to give this pass, if but to search by
realities, if but to inhale your vision: this unseen woman, this brilliant
composer, this mature elegance pictured in Three-D: that man to repenting, this
woman to maniac grudges, where therapy consists of this twofold intentionality:
our hopes for destruction, our recourses through triumph, while gasoline drips
into livers: this unruly soul, our bowels scribbled upon wax leafs, while
beadles push our sensations: those fluorescent eyes, those indie eyes, those
split-screen eyes: as uncut realities, our grids speaking Swahili, our minds
praying for upbeat dialogues. I
sketch in lies; I repent in cries; if but this excelled death: this life in
bars, those eyes in scars, while churned for excited or falling by gravity:
this bleeding parchment, this artery glacier, this miserable harmonica: our
days in offices, our sarcoline disguises, our absent amaranth smiles: this
feudal game, as hoping for depletion, while angered by self-possession—this hug
for closure, if but to self, while unraveling threads: this red light, this
green helmet, this literary dislocation: while fierce with survival, at
terrible undercurrents, where one day distresses and entire month: to give in
increments, as hoping for an outburst, while pleading recognition as an
intimate confidant: this brutal reality, this Beijing war, or wants for this
Notre Dame homogeny.
