…thoughts concern fire, this insistent
life, and fantastic fantasies: of rhinestone eyes, or screaming waistlines, or
thought agitator legs: we shy over extraordinary, as black sunshine, affixed to
rapacious love-souls: that dangerous attraction, this light livid existence, and
our worlds bleeding granite: such manicured toes, buried within ocean weeds, or
poised in yoga…this familial heart-quake, as needing essence, if but a younger
us: our playful scars, our literary insistence, or that rainbow derriere: those
times with anger, at something insensitive, or pure expectation: those
disappointed feathers, those treasures for debate, or lethargic seconds filled
with despair…. …we need excellence,
associated with personality, while listening to an aqua moon: our casted capes,
our intricate women, and this reality about sensing magic: such octopus
tentacles, or cheetah fangs, or by life our acquired interests: those lazy
moments, or bodies upon silk, or fluids rinsed in tubs: such human atmosphere,
those exotic scents, or those chaotic hairs—as tamed with oils, while laughing
hysterically, or so entrenched in serious concerns: that business attire, those
picture perfect poses, and such frontal elusiveness…to come by reasons, as
projecting mystery, while rapture becomes pure gesticulation: such mica
richness, so involved but aloof, while carried by stardust….
…we need insistence, to feel complete,
living our mafia instincts: those muddy petals, drenched in rain-dew, and
washed by resistance: we need pressure, to attain to greatness, while rooted in
something slightly familiar: those rare journals, this infatuation with poetry,
or days to such heavy admiration: our mother’s wisdom, sheared for
imperfections, where our souls begin to ache: those skyglass windows, our
churchlike living rooms, or agony to beds feeling destined: this important
reservoir, those opalescent characters, or nights pining in radical sensations:
our souls speaking French, our studies situated in Rome, while guts churn
afraid to vomit: that remarkable soul, this remarkable kiss, while we do
business living slightly detached….
I feel sluggish, attempting to capture
light, insomuch, as missing its essence: that much ocean-sky, this inverted
sea, or so much trust we exist in vulnerability: this anxious creature, that
terrible concern, or moments to staring intently: such beige persistence, our
involved axioms, plus, our involved insecurities: to share our grains, to trim
lightly our contours, while faced by a palm of decisions: our sautéed souls,
laughing and carrying justice, while attempting at something impossible: those
tragic screams, this mystical life, while defeating obstacles: our hungry
souls, but needing attention, where passion becomes a full time academy…this
inner desktop, this mental hard-drive, or our sociable software: such ravished
emotion, such soul-invested searching, where we settle into something
insatiable: those perfect seconds, our perfect bodies, our perfected
undertones: as fools at love, but proud by love, to hope to die with Love.
For many reasons, I search to dance, this
world where poets need affections: this changing miracle, this tormented
essence, or this excellent insistence: our prophetic minds, our skeleton bones,
while seated conjuring up something paradoxical: that felt carnival, this world
of fantasies, or this enchanting novel—where Love is majestic, our eyes to
diamonds, and our souls to something terrestrial—but lit in mythology, or
bemoaned by psychology, where we resist something that’s rising in our guts:
our minds at downtime, our serious pursuits, where realities push through
fantasies: those inner harvests, this threshold for persistence, or this
particular need for excitement: those sable gems, requiring eternity, where
humans build relentlessly.
