Gnarly Head

…while deceased a young lad, or teary for deaths, afraid that mother violates—this cussing frenzy, this lively action, to sip over wine-cakes: this bleeding infinity, this black sanctity, or treasured rum with teas: our broken colours, this siren in pity, this blood-shine in fevers: this Jericho symbolic, this training triumph, or this Jerusalem Goddess: our Artemis Cries, this deep enchantress, or deliveries to China: those trenchant belles, this trenchant agony, or bold with trenchant disgusts: to outwit fate, as gray gravity, infused for dead living as life demands: those tailored choirs, this tailored exile, or Love so dramatic our traffic has paused: at blue blazers, or velvet vests, to assume permanence that second to climax: our inborn images, our fabric prayers, our tragic verses: this running insanity, this therapist laughing, this therapist frying: as hybrid exoneration, for life seems different, as opposed to valuing pure hatred: this silent truth, this reluctant reacceptance, or years as black psychology: this welted whelp, this cut in marrow, this anesthesia: while some would argue, this light skinned dynasty, while darker skins suffer endless trials: our bowels upchucking, our minds at rivers, for something, A long time coming: this perfect world, those reasonable fractures for strangers, while superiors slice a piece for darkness: this meal as raging, this silent self repenting, while begging for acceptance: this bare red fury, this blue grass travesty, or days to pondering false upheavals: our turnstone skies, our laughing hyenas, this vehicle blasted off liquor: to give but damned, this woman’s appraisal, while lights bear witness to alienation: this gunning world, this lack by participation, this cursed reality: our local hymns, our ice with vodka, or this jinn pushing for laughter: our keen surprise, to adventure upon life, where some souls have vetoed kissing ass: for what are persons, but insecure jewels, while secluded from actual personalities: this man shunning, these wrists dripping, those roses for pure deception: as racing forward, our mane to winds, this nave convoluted and everyone needs a master…!    

…it was numbness, or gnats, or pure dissatisfaction…this jigsaw puzzle, this jutted fury, or personalities inverted by reversals: such oaken flies, or otic sighs, to hear a sentence verses sanity—those demons for Christians, this mind for Psychologists, or dormant realities flying through subliminal charms: this overworked gap, this plangent moon, or men realizing it feels good to triumph: this father watching, this grandparent demanding submission, or this mulatto disgusted with horrible interaction: as plants for love, where agents are fleeing, while stems grow aborted to destruction: this mystic jute, this cryptic flute, or days to living by a stranger’s commands: to lose daughters, to abolish honor, to gain but Jesus: these lowly things, this high held roof, or nights to ruby red rum: our media eyes, our inner technology, or seared duck breasts and wild mushroom pizza: our days to fantasizing, our chewed lips, this resilient mathematics—to want for dear life, as accustomed to refraining, where Love seems incredible: those loud skies, this puppet submitting, or this political giant writhing: this pawn made rook, this queen made delivered, or this ace made divinity: (to choke a ghost, to eat an apparition, or evenings listening to phantoms: those blue-shot eyes, this endless violin, this personal habitat: those coins flipping, this destiny in vestibules, to thought as demanding insistence: this skinny beaut, this inner dimension, or this book filled with perfume scents: our eyes to needing, if but this friend, if but this winner—at terrible arks, or petals upon sheet metal, or seconds to infinity needing affection: those trenchant ribbons, this cinema in turquoise, or this primal innocence while thrown to corruption: as teal vines, of blood ache memories, to adore something dying as mystic)….

Inhalation Aerosol

…our asthmatic hearts, this thief running hillsides, or persons unbeknownst to senses: that invisible room, that roaring chimney, that puffing sincerity: those lonely trees, so close afar, and never a nudge: but roots meet, as mingling underground, our souls fretting Christology….

I used to fantasize: I think as sameness: I’ve found nuance…this tender deliverance, this mother’s smile, this deceased lullaby: as henchmen negotiating, or lieutenants reclassified, or harlots becoming holy: this dynamic princess, this inner goddess, this lascivious but harnessed womb: our rules laughing, this father sinning, or Physical Ed. intelligence—this black hell, this white darkness, or tears this Jamaican Queen: that slur, those romantic pianos, this blood blue daisy: our daughters feeling night-cares, our sons muscling without reasoning, or granny that three a.m. cigar: to roam softly, at mystic captures, or sitting awaiting one thump: that box of voodoo, that vase of holy water, or this four year old dazing for aglow: our mother’s secrets, this film in Hindi, or days to studying Krishna: that other Jesus, this inner Buddha, or something high until deflated: that serious Pragmatist, that crucial Psychiatrist, or that moved Psychologist: as inverted therapists, or sagacious clowns, or mulatto prisoners: our benighted bones, our slighted marrow, at currents afloat this dynasty of thieves: those sapphire rubies, those dangerous tendencies, where a man might fantasize: this cut leaking, this blood born flower, or this rising oaken bark.     I often by wonders—concerning your heart, to ask if maybe you’ve felt our dilemma: this caveat peeking, this decease by pegs, our brains gathered for autopsies: that Sade pain, that Aretha soul, or minutes to denying human-hood: those jasper skies, this rainbow cry, or men too serious concerning pure deception: at games, right—or unending trials, right—where death becomes our credulous lovers: as melting for brick, this solid asshole, to insist she open doors for his mistress: this cruel winner, those cruel eyes, this cruel insanity: (our alone moments, or craving dismissed by crowds, as forced to redeem self: this comical genesis, this expert loser, or reborn feeling superior: this eight dollar bill, this glass steel, or those plate eyes): if but to ruin, this self as loved, this breath as puffing: to out-type our futures, this paralegal maniac, as placing Judges under cross-examination.     I die an inch, as one elated, while leaping something is infused: that vision of interiors; that vision of exteriors; or this empirical nightmare: our last posits, our deceptive everything! or this mission misguided belonging to children: this grown tear, this river of metaphors, or charisma too emphatic to resist: our bets so low, our stakes so high, while pouting for one so unbelievable: that mazeway of ambition, these core rebels, or days to admiring pure delusion: if but this soul, if but our aches, to live as isolated triumphing over existence: this clump of grass, this soil beneath nail-beds, this fire running low on survival: our women stories, this bad ass machine, this lethal ass glory: our watery gems, this song splaying doubts, to find Love was too proud: our diced onions, our superb grounds, or rapt’d in Flowing Light: that dramatic tone; that dramatic grin; or collapsing for at rest those silvers.     …if but our deaths, to embark upon our livers, this vodka, this woman, this negro needing infinity: our boxes, our moving(s), our boosting empires: as alive in quietude, racing through vicissitudes, a bit kindled, or utterly rude: this light bouncing, this woman at rhythms, to find that poets die asearch for, Cutie: this four door Impala, this stabbing Caprice Classic, or baby so low her eyebrows are swimming: to spin aces, by radical diamonds, or trumped by clubs: this wafting scent, this wafting tomb, those crazed insights: at organic miseries, fleeing for fled, adrift for manic searching this industry: this quite insistence, this aggravated attraction, and that hilarious, edible glow…!

Only with Screams

…let dreams seep afar, let Love die his brains, or tried and dead fending for daughters: this inner war, those bloodshot eyes, this inner archery: this man dying, Psych, this daughter his screams, Psych, this blood blue insanity, Psych: as dipping in silver, to arrive in grays, our bowels to burgundy gut-wars: this remark in tents, this blimp in beige, or years to damages, or seized for rushing again to dynamite: those green roses, this tender tulip, this woman to far his reach: as again, to deaths, as again, to breaths, as again, to riches: this million dollar heist, this zillion dollar ransom, or accursed for ruined laughing in dementias: our loud shots, this dripping fracture, those marigolds in brown: as remarkable eyes, to hold his intestines, while fleeing his intellect: this rude woman, this playful art, or this sensitive man: our last rites, this twenty one gun salute, at macaques spelling, Infinity….     …it was years afloat, this teal lullaby, this crib forbidden by tomorrow: this cocaine mother, this cocaine father, this liquor revved son: our aunts to long-range, our cousins to intricacies, or this White/Asian fretting for destroyed—that essence weaving, this man to tittles, this gown aborted for nights seemed imperfect: this child with blankets, this granny knowing in details, or fathers holding to an innocent image: if but to perish, this room by clutter, or occulted purple blue tares: our fire-grains, our black muddy blood, or something turquoise a voice that cursed Us: if but to forget, or but to live, this rut of fortunate children: our marooned eyes, this treasure as cursed, this working dead-zone: our women to feelings, this need for constant appraisals, or such lustre for souls that grin…this billion dollar clock, this thousand dollar hit, while mother parades as deceased laughing inside his brains: to cut with innocence, to feel too grown, as needing this breakdown: that jade tender kite, this hut of fuel, or roaming Rome this seat in Los Angeles….     I sizzle as monks, this mysterious pleat, while speaking for cursed: this nun laughing, this bishop grinning, as nuns love with laity: our musty musky bones, this mental pathway, or furious gateways unlocking divinity: this small frame, that husband in backgrounds, those feelings that must pass: those masked fragrances, this sensational bracket, or dreams in parentheses: as, moreover, this Descartes Empire, or this wild soul bleeding, if but to enter while ruined through seeking: our interior habits, as clashing with outer intensities, to reveal as livid afloat a marvelous hearse: this penchant, Love, this attitude, Love, this Rumi interrogating our screams, Love: as but to die, afraid of memoirs, or so entrenched our Psychs are redeemed: this running frenzy, this black water, this eternal wrongdoing: as grass churns, as weeds explode, where silence seems a bit loud: our doorsills, those punctured ears, or this reality seeming wholesome to but a few.     —we scream as demented, we love as ruptured, it comes as terrified satiation: our mystic murals, this major dramatic, or chugging with, Diane: our birdsongs, our flute whistles, or this rodeo clarinet: such amber eyes, such moonstone souls, or topaz existence bent with webs: to need that feeling, while seeming unattained, where such would ruin a turquoise family: so more to sizzling, or gutted for berries, this almond nibbling flamingo: such azure green, or sunstone yellow, fearing for affronted by inner granite: this beautiful woman, this intelligent woman, afraid for unreality has proffered an epiphany: that losing feeling, this reason to grip tighter, as mica spews its sulfur: that mind running: this gut churning, or that aqua gold smile: as gunning machines, this artificial reasoning, or dandelions chuckling while sipping Fetzer: those remote emotions, to die at palms, to laugh sniffling snot: this RedBull ant, this Redpoll rant, this Red-Denver chant: at Colorado breathing, at airports frantic, or at mystic passion redeemed: this tragic feeling, this tragic woman, this yogic aster: our backs turned, our steps slow, as about-faced and trenchant for good-luck: this pearl for sin, this returning to Love, while another mourns for fraught by trespass—.

Underground Witness

I’m at underworlds, this Super Inclination, this Supper with Rivals: our meeting frames, our terrified guts, this balloon of butterflies: those made for symbols, that wretched orchestra, or Beethoven at tyrannies: our bladders full, our inheritance dismantled, our souls sawed for inflated: this gut-war, this mental game, or pieces becoming life like: at 40 days by fasting, or this contour glowing, to break (fast) with strawberries: this blueberry tension, this cherry deranged, or our bodies disguising ten heads.     …it’s been raft rides, this canyon of oceans, this wellic cry: as bent for surviving, at longings for newness, to acknowledge those tears spent writhing for sophistication: this inward churn, this burning edifice, or trillion dollar episodes: our daughters laughing, our daughter’s feelings, this shy, bashful, aggressive creature: our nights in limbo, our mornings at breakfasts, or evenings playing our parts: this inner film, this inner grin, this professor analyzing glaciers: this theologian fire, this poet igniter, or this engine tweaked to ensure our rollercoasters…our sakata passion, this esoteric mentality, those few psychs confirming our eyes: this bleeding hip, those acacia thighs, this cypress sap: at inner music, a bit infatuated, while adoring living, but tales are gray: this life by infractions, this wild eyed mulatto, or treasures distressed for wrenched: this pliers empire, this kingdom dynasty, or hours to admiring Korean Calligraphy: (as getting lost, this manic composure, this maniac brain: this filthy drug, this cherished belly, at soldiers devoid of feelings: this soul watching, this killer waiting, at thoughts our daughter’s intestines: to stab a Porsche, as standing out-of-bounds, spray-painting an iguana: those deep phobias, this serenity of psychotic features, a bit alone fleeing this island: our ecclesiastic rites, our Ten Commandments, or this palm of goose-grass: to respond to illness, at nostrils grieving, to remember father losing his cartilage: thitherto, or partial insanity, to cling for purpose behaving inappropriately: to expect full devotion, as one reaching holy legs, while life has become make-believe: those tall towers, those scraping bridges, or silverback eyes: this ruby sun-gun, this tragic rug-pain, or days to moistened cloth: as one a bit angry, where others are perfect, but Love moans and rants about every night): our escapes deranged, or hopes for more deception, our eyes pleading another soul's heart-shatter: as feeling for sanity, while cut with illness, to demand total loyalty: this mule gunning, this man laughing, where bullets hit atmosphere and return: this misfire, this missed-brain, those missiles at core-penchants…such sickness by genius, such water through dryness, or arid personalities sudden to bubble lively: this mis-garnered woman, this mish-matched gasoline, or songs un-scored and ruined in tempo: those fine apples, this green loquat, or years to trekking through ghettoes: to meet, Fantastic, to need, Fantastic, while underdeveloped for, Fantastic: this moving frenzy, this treasured reality, this captivating, Brain: as one refocused, or to need for one season, while scoping for kaleidoscope honesties: this fool at ceilings, to drill a tiny hole, while rain ensued that evening….     Seriously, it’s un-cool, Love, this addiction adults swim through: these myriad realities, this tribal game, this kill for breath: our nut-crackers, our trenchant disguises, or to love a woman and vanish: this need for condoms, this breath for insistence, while one day Love will embark upon marriage: this lucky friend, this fevered insanity, this white dress: if but for cloths, if but for dreams, if but for instances: our burning earlobes, this tragic episode, this inner movie: this tale for ass-kissing, this black man running, this world to Race suggestions: our camerawoman, our Kodak moments, this capture in engrams: those otiose realities, those small negotiations, where arguments lose nuance: as one would say, or one might assert, Some arguments are trite: but reason for passion, to understand those feelings, as opposed to being swayed without deepness!

Boot of Feelings

…magazine ingestion, or radicalized emotion, needing this extra-pleat: our demonic inclines, our angelic altruism, or years to tithes and alms: to explode parties, to hand a skeleton hanky, or romancing fantasies: this clear illusion, this potent confusion, or days at underground tunnels: our chained wrists, our addict behaviors, or so stubborn it’s hard to exhale: this mental mantle, this mental magic, this beating fire: as one adrift, seeking therapy, or realizing it’s getting rough: this song admittance, this curious fever, or nights to three hours of rest: that truck-stop, that gasoline, this exchange of furtive glances: as reaching harmony, if but those minutes, if but that delusional clarity: that is say, as one sees, as one believes, or trespassing for needing something stealth: our chaotic waves, this long light, if permanent, this extensive existence: this core dread, this frantic masculinity, or so softened she can’t drink: those grandparent children, or graces by glaciers, at fraudulent and misplaced responsibilities: this cave in brains, those roadmaps bleeding, or this dead-end screaming at neighboring cul-de-sacs: our capital pains, stressed for ruined, while culprits are next upon victims: in grief and dancing, our Sherlock tendencies, our ironic closures: as emphatic animals, this ability to reason, while utilized as vehicles for further madness: that lecture seeping forward, this gavel laughing, as souls amble a thousand corners: moreover, a dream, concerning flaming infatuation, at hopes but it peter’s softly: our Gotham Pride, our Batman Avenger, or nights to seasoned souls: our youth abandoned, our feelings as remote, or this ability so close but adrift another dimension: if but accused, this layer of passion, this pulling insanity: those unnatural histories, our minds with apes, our bodies with chimpanzees: this cold accusation, this theologian losing, while fantasizing about those actions he condemns: this tent’s paradox, this internal chase, or Spirit so enrapt’d in sexualities: those wailing demons, that demonic adventure, this whispering self: our inclinations, as given to temptations, or passed to mental omens: this mirror screaming, this inner voice our essence, to realize those actions live in Us….     I speak to beauty—our ancient tombs, this merry-go-round catacomb: our destined feelings, or dramatic characters, or those traumatized satiations: our minds upon bicycles, our cops as delayed cuffs, or tragedy exposing this need for affliction: this pampered soul, but yearning contrary, to die as livid while pacified: our deep riddles, this sensational sphinx, or Love so distraught her bones are wheezing: this flip in satin, those forbidden raptures, this curse as sensing distraction: this pulled winner, this tentative loser, or this existential scientist: our ravished intestines, that release with fury, or pure artificial intelligence: thereupon, this laughing friendship, this person but always available, or this crying picture: those muddy palms, those muddy eyes, at once, but told to breathe—as lunging forward, or bungee jumping backwards, to realize Love has our entanglements: such picnic panic, such panic horizons, at days reading something obscure: this reason to exist, this person with wings, while flapping we chase: at, furthermore, shivers, this winking balloon, this raving tea kettle, those immortal curses: to flee self, to become religious, while daily sweeping our vestibules: at casual reflection, or something reaching, to feel so ashamed of being human: this shifty claim, where duty is paramount, while verbal contracts should hold some weight: this reading glass, this monolithic, or those orbs circling our inner hemispheres: at redeemed councils, those thought-fights, or so at this person we betray existence: to lavish with everything, to utter with exhausted passion, while screaming, tugging and dying for sheer courage: this life in souls, this spirit at sciences, this fire in something alive: as poets deconstructed, our venues shifting, our milieus bleeding: this sense of abandonment, our rocky dietaries, our entrenched petroglyphs: and, hitherto, this backwards glance, this deep lasciviousness, this trenchant contradiction!

Fer-de-lance Instincts

…let time increase, our dreams in sewers, our laughs through hallways…our heavy palms, those languished screams, those terrible roses: to adore as slanted, to frighten in images, or shaved, bathed, and smelling gentle: this icy river, those snowflake jewels, or cupcakes seeming into similes: as cried a swan, or adored a mother, this theological repentance: our brains hanging, our guts traveling, or centered at Metropolis: those surreal intensities, this surreal proclivity, or sails enveloping into conscience realities: this broken vase, this gutter window, or trespassing upchucking our ghosts: this running vomit, those tender eyes, those treacherous inclinations: at Love giggling, at Love smiling, or so silent our walls are shooting darts: this daughter as winning, this torture as presumed, for men rarely conquer Vietnam: that passion digging, this web spawned with envies, while gathered in Latin American Histories: our epistemic(s), our colossal politics, at terrified expectations….     I belie images, I die whistling, I flute as one designed: this wooden boy, this tale of human-hood, or robbing for altruism: those troublesome sights, this young lad, or days at hunger: this bag of potatoes, this rich family, this dying mother: as sniffing or grinding, as whoring for feeling determined, or a hundred piece blasted: that dark fume, this touch or intoxication, those pipes to new lips: this turnout nation, this family of villains, or jaguar bite-force: our travesties, our loses, our vampire canines: to remember an image, devoid of feelings, or years so cold he’s desensitized: that small Doberman, that screaming voice, or this need for companionship: that ghostly empire, those ghostly tentacles, or men feeling inscrutable devices: our scalps torn neatly, those cervical regions, this soldier first for drawing first for fifty years: to pardon attraction, to feel uncivilized, to dream as escaping something natural: this too far death, this miracle woman, as attracted to something un-subjugated: this fair twist, to need for conquering, to need for full freedom—as dying with Love, or freedom for Love, as smashing into concrete concepts: this metaphysical, or pure reality, while werewolves roam his conscious sphere: that man in black, that woman in turquoise, or screams echoing through silent concrete: those capagen instincts, this stealth diary, or speaking in so many tongues the countenance cries.     …we bit to bone, this boney gristle, as dying alone: this world of colors, this daughter to industries, those friends those territories—this inner wrenching, those pliers laughing, this Hamlet Insanity—to see for purpose, our eyes watering, this travesty becoming normality: this French War, this cursed Jesus, this tree this wall those stakes: as fleeing his needs, while embracing screams, to ask for mother one last kiss: those feudal Empires, this dynasty so young, or this inability to apologize: this cut in science, this misery in psychology, to look at one with pure impatience: to note knots, to reason cords, this para-dying: those long poltergeists, this trenchant helium, or sherm leafs in order to function: this violation, this creative truth, those days to pills for Love was incorrigible….     Our women watching, to know for ghosts, as dragged for cursed and feeling ruined—this last cure, this remote antidote, or souls at parties rekindling anecdotes: that fair woman, as more than hearts, as more than actions: to move this kef, to attain that position, while challenged to keep it—this man gunning, our bodies diving, this gut laughing—as so cruel, this inner movie, those dying theologians: at frustrations, at cure attics, or destroyed for participation: in treachery, to look and want, to glide and perish: those sad monkeys, those depressed eyes, or this similar feeling: to ask by Life, this terrible affection, at wants to realize a soul healing his tragedy: such melancholy, or schizophrenic sensations, while laughing close to tears—this vehicle road-magic, this trapeze gut war, or hats fulfilling while owners delight—as perishing wildly, a dime for phone-morals, or days to bathing in battlefields.                          

Spark a Match

I offended castles, as bleeding hatred, as cursed leaping over obstacles—to give this life, to something oriented, as casual but vicious: this tale about mother, this absentee father, those intricate uncles: this family war, this cross-cultural influence, this hip those beats those jeans: as livid and murky, or dark with lights, afforded several accusations: our granny’s child, our father’s rejection, our mother’s everything: in trenches swimming, in gutters laughing, or ghetto born as ghetto sworn: to return to Love, this sensitive creature, those bold defenses: as living while dying, as needing assistance, but cut by mother’s words—this pheasant becoming an eagle, this eagle becoming a king, this daughter as too remote to locate: at metaphors laughing, at detectives debating, at lawyers feeling sensations: this Jewish legacy, this Jewish enterprise, or reaching for growling but hungry: that frightened, abused puppy, that meerkat cage, or those deers content with utter simplicity: this human dirge, this lamenting casualty, those platypus nightmares: to die with grit, to gallop until it shatters, to gristle atop moonbeams—that treacherous theologian, this quick demonization, or something current as an infant undercurrent: our blood-shine, or delirious grapes, or pistols forming as shoving guts: our reborn losers, our in Yahweh winners, or chuckling over giggling hyenas: this running curse, this florid bash, to break for battering windows.     I baked a parasite, I ate a worm, I grinned and sacrificed:—this red island, this sage assistance, this cuddle fish: as blended, Love, at deaths, Love, but courage felt good, Love: those ferns prostrate, those daisies mourning, or marigolds whispering: that old feeling, this new arrival, those tresses parted for, Love: as built elephants, or ramming rhinos, or ruby green sensations: our fathers those years, our women those centuries, or to know your legacy: those political views, to awaken onlookers, where it felt good to eat and talk dung: that powerful life, this coming vote, that registration: as full participants, or marine paragliders, or army features bleeding mother’s reality: to come to senses, to breathe while deceased, or to witness how family-life ought to exist: that precious friend, this envy exchange, this winter for thoughts: as unbarred, or cut for speaking, where Love is afraid to sense his mother: this radiant curse, this forceful parade, those balloons becoming outdated: this needle poking, this brain prodding, this patience as demanding—that languor’s persistence, that cheetah’s determination, or our Hamilton inquiries—this last movie, that radical shift, while others are exonerated: this fair adventure, as becoming a rapper, where fools tread quicksand: as more to life, this Poet’s Empire, this daughter’s inner whelp: to cactus a feeling, this sandpaper whispers, or to dance while others watch intently: as one exclaims innocence, another exclaims melancholy, while another speaks to something un-sensed—this stinging-ray, those tortured seas, this lunch for exchanges: our rotten apples, our treasured apricots, or days to chunking our tangerines: at remote emotion, or trenchant emotion, while others sense but a vivacious torch.     I drift as missing, I sing as glory, to offend as losing: but life is magnitudes, as hearts are fraught, to accustom events as representing a whole culture: this lie in souls, this lie in men, this wickedness in our glories: that small voice, as trampled for giggled, where one grogs insanity: that Welkin Queen, that Dear Survival, while other women are quite distressed: or Black Kings, afforded pure grace, where others are quite wretched: those few tender waves, this One Voice, or this mystery returning for captured but unbeknownst: as fair creatures, or motion creators, to hear a song and ponder precious curly locks: this blessing overused, this diffused lightning, or raging fire abandoned to struggling a therapist: that blue-black-badness, this terrible-trenchant-tragedy, unlike born-but-belittled: at intelligent inquiries, receiving trite clichés, where pain becomes passion: this troubled seal, those perch-oil-spills, or blatant disregard for mind-frames!                        

I Wonder how Love Strategizes

…sufficient grace, or parallels bleeding, or holograms are wheezing: this fever for thoughts, those excruciating legs, or parachutes too far to reach: this leaping frenzy, those catchy eyes, or loquat gin: to imagine remedies, for something balm and crucial, or long stemmed pride—as captured with graces, or cuffed with humiliation, or puffing while redeeming her conscious: this fair enterprise, this dying luxury, or kept for ruined and feeling trapped: that icy forest, those icy chimps, or monkeys pitched as delicacies: those nuggets of rain, that terrific agony, or howling for feeling emphatic: this placeless future, those placeless survivors, this placeless race—while afforded one intensity, or awkward playing pretend, where many specialize at speaking incantations: that full moon, that ruby sun, or this robe disguising myriad strains….

It brings love forward; It kills so sweetly; It reminds souls of something un-captured: this tongue flippancy, this night-rising cat exhaustion, where Love was purposed as pregnant: a man dives, he digs his treasuries, either/or, to collapse or leap: as building realities, or leasing automobiles, while shadows ride into sunset: this trillion dollar vessel, or this five dollar beer, while one was sudden upon florescent bees: our lives laughing, our feelings courted, or years to rooms speaking Swahili: that photogenic smile, or perchance social merchants, to invest in life  searching for paradise: those clever wings, this clever everything, or days as nights paraded in black culture: those romantic caricatures, this intimate pantomime, to learn that Love is manic: this cut and feel good, this drench and hair clave, while destined for courage and adoring imperfect this human!          

Angèline (2016)

I can’t for knowledge, as adrift at magic, so tragic those multiplied habits: our wilderness, this soft kiss, those musical life-deaths: this trickling ice, those rosy manikins, or travesties so bold it felt good: those thighs laughing, this soul panting, those agonies at mercy—as cut with lace, as chased with delirium, or lyrical silence: this quote for thieves, this cuff for women, as alive knowing better those feelings: this subtle thump, this man’s wife, this fair too off our maps: while feeling dementia, or relived for failing, while angst gored and gnawed his intestines: to love as sickness, so cold with vengeance, to arouse as sighted to demean: that money frenzy, those big body trucks, this dice so intimate I’m failing: to throw cash-bundles, this stripped pole, this Cardi B—those inner Jennifer’s, this river torch, those Rihanna’s giggling—as accustomed to Beyoncè’s, or texting Gwen Stefani, or something so skinny it dies passed age limits: this rewound clock, this penchant for voices, or at currents fleeing oceans: that bad pendulum, those tossed brains, or styles to guts laughing for tortured: this curse to dancing, this moon by stars, or terrible white chocolate—as too evolved, and feeling normal, while majesty giggles!

I swig a gulp, I light a cigar, I ponder my lungs: this zip those years, this key those planes, this man as dying to love something dying: this full fool, this intimate guess-game, where Love gives for feeling ruined: this happy magnet, this clown at laughter, those buildings speaking French: this tongue pain, this religiosity, to adore Love swimming through Maria: this Mary queen, this halo travesty, this dance to long greetings: if but dynamics, if but those ankles, if but breasts blasting his eyeballs: our fire-grit, this gristle bone, this marrow womb—while fleeing for floating arranged in gutters: this blood-shine, this blue territory, those burgundy sun-cliffs: as affronted for reserved, too stressed for forward, while Love was quite pleased: this shift in turns, while aches claim mercy, to distress his appetites: our child watching, this theologian failing, while anger has destroyed insights.

I arrived at skateboards, or destined for destruction, at passion whistling by Jesus: our fabulous brains, this window opened, or so cursed for enjoyed Love is aching nonsense: this howling sky-fever, this wolf bleeding angst, or days to sewers floating upon goose-down comforters: those nights at membranes, that would if foresighted, or guts too familiar to claim pure deaths!   

Interlude: Horizons

…such credence by feelings, those incredible journals, and such remarkable remnants: this need for simplicity, if but to receive essence, or realities over-processed…to comb through emotion, to sense adoration, to alight from jaded haystacks: those outstanding capsules, that outlandish thought, whereby, romance has become reception: that basket of memories, those bold overtures, or unwavering companionship…as precious authors, or rapacious knitters, where acid rain never tasted so moving: this blanket of promises, that endearing squirrel, and antlike prickles: to exhaust sunrise, to crocket evenings, or to dine through midnight: those colorful passions, those late night cartons—what miracles may bloom…!

…in evidence we moan, about seahorse horizons, about the motions of life: these gild of seekers, this love by imagery, or souls webbed and feeling excited: our casual glances, those leaves piling, our dreams rushing water—if but to arise, as felt in emotion, to arouse something permanently abstract: this heat with courage, this thrown dynasty, or daylight reminding itself—of something delicate, of something intrusive, or memories too powerful to dislodge: as musical instruments, or galloping spirits, while consumed by something mentioned: such innocent role-play, such stages for lights, or looking for absence while adoring footprints: our grooming habits, our souls alike to primates, or our need for something living: at huts dancing, at trails nervous, at cliffs pleading to leap: indeed, where courage blossoms, or love advertises, or eyes sing mercy….     

…these winds are latent, these tumbles are violent, and this feeling is reeling: as dear friends, or absorbed lovers, as building an encouraging ark: this castle of rings, this space for furniture, or those witted explosions: this feeling examined, this emotion examined, to realize an inconclusive analysis—or rendered without knowledge, to adore something flying, as to soar enveloped in precise sensations: this feeling-memory, as stressed for pegs, while Love is leaping...!              

Tragic Normality: and we say, “I Love You.”

I keep with motion, so asleep and cringing, or so alive and dying: this broken moon, this heathen atmosphere, or trenchant webs disgusted with soul-wars: our guts, Love, our passion, Love, this invisible connection seeming concrete, Love: as men forced to survive, as kettles whistling to Majesty, or claimed for ruined living in palatial shadows: our remorse for winning, our remorse for dying, at terrible, engrained frustrations: to love with pride, to exist with power, or failing for gathered listening to Atlantic voices: this bipolar catastrophe, or feel-good highs, as classified as class one: this wrenching depression, this valve of elation, or this universal nudge—where mother was queen, at fire to fields, where caves became our adolescence: those wretched laments, this core-Jeremiah, or days at something feeling intrinsic: our church organs, this abstract dilemma, or personal concepts unsupported: such kinetic satori, this pregnant gesture, this pregnant introduction: as aloof but personal, or personal but withdrawn, if but to evaluate this hankering disgruntle war: hereupon, this letter to remission, this ballad to Yahweh, or this duet singular but afar: our jota moods, our mesto colors, by sadness adjusted by beauty: this fool raging, this moor in guts, or our daughters forced to believe in resistance: this feudal ache, this anti-universe, this private solitary—where bones aggravate, and children mimic, while grandmother senses this mural of catastrophes: our blanket eyes, our rickety bodies, or joints squeaking in anguish: as born for winning, but denied its kernel, while droplets of sorrow dictate our realities: this twinkle of sunlight, this rushing fever, or this web of silky lies: to feel dramatic, or even distant, to analyze existence as one tragic fib: if but to perish, or but to exhaust, while flipping with flipper—this Asian Eye, those insync Africans, or this European exclusion: as granny watches, holding tight to loyalties, while feeling this scent of ashes: our red palms, this drilling profanity, where skiing seems appropriate: at steel-toe-boots, clashing with doorframes, while insistence permeates our departures: this small lexicon, this trenchant curse, while needing father to be nice: this tale for reception, this song for saints, if but mommy a gentle soul: our snuck insights, our cloudy emotions, while both are approaching a tare coldly—this inner homecoming, that rendered graduation, while woven into destroying a large inheritance: this future distress, this local therapist, at sisters attempting to shed envy: (our mothers proud, if but with death, where gramps becomes emphatic: this tall tale, distinguished by souls, where absence determines our imaginations: this easy slang, this do-good example, while daughters are experiencing hell): indeed, As long as I feel good, and as long as I live life, our daughters can deal with those hells): that King in OT, that child beheaded, this miracle with existence: at honor with shame, at shame with feelings, at feelings with sheer disregard: that nervous hive, our nervous shakes, while parents laugh at highs feeling Jesus: thereunto, this petit claim, this treasured insurance, Your father is a stranger!: in truth, as all was explained, while family members scream concerning free-thoughts!: this modern-life slavery, as coming from slave owners, a bit immersed in black culture: if but obedience, if but complacency, if but utter dictatorship over thoughts: That bad man, that mulatto resistant, this figure claiming more for life than our offers: that cold disease, that triumph in make-believe, where we determined his future: Those cold bars, that sulfur to brains, our triumph over God’s Child: thereto, this wretched soul, this wretched conjecture, where reality speaks its tragic voice: at cuts spelling, at oceans laughing, at piers mourning: those rosary-beads, that Casket Cross, or this belief that Christians/Buddhists are permitted to do as one wills: this daughter-slaughter, this magic if born to living, while destroyed early enough to cause damage: that endless sandbox, this endless defense-wheel, or this permanent exile despite our dying daughters!

Interior Pathway

…we tow feelings, while challenged by existence, somehow waving back at ourselves: such endless shadows, such faint regard, where emotion determines responses: our inner terrain, our shifty perceptions, while deep feelings are involuntary....     ...we appear serious, we shift our compass, where something gentle seems strenuous: our backboards watching, our passions heaving, if but this inner strength: those voice-overs, those sound-bites, or this vehicle presumed as Reality: those capital agendas, those suppressed appetites, while seeming indifferent….        

…we envelope insistence, our persistent mornings, our resistant evenings: those daily rehearsals, our weekly charms, while alienated from experience: or too involved to sing, where life is at terms, or existence seems decoded: but anger looms, born to humankind, this force giving life substance: those wintry galaxies; those rioting aches; or time by minerals….     I looked at reflection, this resounding map-war, where occurrences are battling for mirror praise: to find such indebtedness, or indelible heart-pegs, where life has taken its form: while nibbling pineapple, or pacing clouds, as one removed from squares: such is tic-tac-toe, or a week playing our souls, at courage to take a shower: this meaning in resistance, or something watching, if this something resides internally.     It was years at flights, accustomed to disagreements, or favored for something passive: this dance with inevitability, those showcase destroyers, or porcelain chimneys: such romantic soot, or charming smaze, while consistency remained aloof: this tale here told, concerning longevity, where Love becomes dependable habits: that fair claim, even with its chaos, to know by familiarity such reachable interaction.    

…we pause cautiously; we summons creativity, or settle for universals: this slant in reception, those appealing sights, or this range of devil-may-care: those tall buildings, this edifice of uncertainty, where insistence becomes by seesaws: this up-life, or perfect interaction, while tumbling through existential rivers: this young self, those old tendencies, our playful spouses: to reinvent our receptors, to have that warm location, or at times, feeling deep curiosity: if but to re-adorn, if but to symphony softly, if but to doodle in our memoirs: those solemn experiences, this solemn existence, at solemn beliefs….

I speak to something latent, but alive enough to sense, where deep joy is shadowed by presence: this force in humans, this essence in religiosity, or this inner person: that watchful magnet, this vigil receiver, this aloof quarterback: our song sung sternly, or seconds to loosening diligence, or moments at vulnerability: our responsive souls, making others conscious, while indulging in rare encounters: those esoteric tentacles, those spiritual lullabies, or this rich insistence: at turquoise hills, climbing with grace, despite, such inner resistance: to be in seconds, to dance in moments, or to reflect and sense this loosening belt…our feelings at oneness, our selves at consciousness, while onlookers are experiencing sameness: those impetuous thoughts, this uneasy feel-good, where coffee, pen and pad, and semi-courage seem delightful: this sullen-joy, this sullen mountain, this human predicament…while normality appears conscious, and disorder appears unrehearsed, insofar, as determining suppressed behaviors: where anvils seem needed, and gavels seem appropriate, especially, where utter chaos is demonstrated: this Judge in souls, this diligent conversation, at faces with something unlike ourselves: those dark inclines, or such murky marsh, to realize our design is quite with purpose.                            

Sky Forests

I drift afar, caught for captured, in pure admiration: such lipstick allure, such death at bays, or turquoise sensations: our carnival veins, our high note symbols, as high-tech souls: this last rite, our spiders in eyes, our agonies in jars: this tiny ship, this infinite wound, at tension combating nerves: to die with passion, to live as watching, while anguish seeps through marrow: this road of rhinestones, or Paris hierarchy, afloat a magnanimous ghost: this fever by amore, those sensitive neurons, or cleaving for snatching attempting to crash: at islands adrift, this Geico Insurance, or days whispering to US Bank: if but to touch, if but to panic, at Time whispering to winds: such feudal delays, our nights at confession, our groins suffering as internal shifters: our probiotics, while sleeping at sunrise, to over analyze something needing affection: such musical attraction, or cosmetic infatuation, feeling for failing interpretation: those tulip cries, those tulip eyes, this daisy symbolism: to shutter at suggestion, or panic at notation, as one abandoned to dragon-hood: this bristle-like courage, to dance as pencils, while Dungeon cries through night-burn: those wretched ladybugs, this wretched lovemaking, or years to reanalyzing insanity.

I came through tunnels, but a lad in sandals, or but a muffled scream: this deep wilderness, those shifting emotions, those volcanic skies: to run through lava, to sense something melting, to awaken in icy rooms: our shivering muscles, while flowers bloom, our clouds raining begonias: at rest but nervous, at jitters somewhat calm, while analyzing interior sensations: such spinning canyons, or rocky rafts, our bodies pulsating at every churn: our heaving chests, our deepest breaths, to realize that motion is stillness: our deserts swimming, those rays to sunbeams, to note in syllables a beetle: those loquacious mirages; those inferno visions; or windy valleys!

I drift over yonder, running through caves, to happen upon mystery: this fragile dynamic, this feral dream, our fevered demands: as aloof creatures, vying for nearness, our stomachs growling: those watchful tumbleweeds, this city of sands, or interior mountains: those blue waters, that leafless tree, those purple ashes: to remember breakfast, to ponder deer, at curtains that dream.

…we reappear as souls, or mighty winds, terrified by existence: this world of inconsistency, this turbulent breath-war, while, nonetheless, we venture with fires: our peanuts with coffee, our agonies with courage, our romance with boundaries: such inner sketching, as etching our parameters, while seated around pantomimes: our axes to fables, our screams to silence, our laughs to graves: if but with joy, to arrive at midweek, our terrors at sabbaticals: those serene seas, this growing courage, our fantastic miracles: to soar our skies, as adrift circuits, where deep thought determines localities: those bells singing, our souls at voice, our passions unchained….

…only if always, this subtle fire, only if heaven rings: our first prom, or that missed prom, to imagine our drifting cries: that symbol of music, that thimble for sewing, or this world for growing: such missed intuition; such verifiable feelings; or random aloofness settled in feathers: those riveting vibes, or sacred misfires, while at dreams encouraged by silence: while lunging air-gravity, or sweeping home, to arrive at a solemn portrait: our minds pausing, our carnivals dissipating, our scarves speaking seduction: at windy tunnels, this life of balloons, while churning for stirred into filming: that even flow, those even feelings, that even challenge…!     

Dishonesty is Popular

…it’s mysterious links, or majestic humans, or mystic misdirection—this furious slaughter, this serious delusion, this crucial penchant—our wistful eyes, our deceased souls, or this cultic miracle—as pints of energy, those curious waterfalls, this mental faucet: as mere a child, staring at cocaine, while laughing at insanity: this split in characters, these mobile traits, as one looking at funny existence: to adore something foreign, at memories at insolence at patience—this foolish midnight, those deigning stars, these tiny pebbles—to ache his heels, at varicose veins, or lavish for sick appealing to maniacs: those high sky-crafts, this core-jet, those misguided cheetahs—at Love with distance, or up so close we fuse, while seated as far we die—as inner lieutenants, or running cops, or angry centered agents: such infiltration, such ventures at doors, or ears knitted to concrete: that ruined maestro, this dying ballerina, or warlocks seized by mysticism: that hut in Long Beach, this mafia in Vegas, or this trenchant Death Valley—at, moreover, curses, this cherry dripping midair, this peach laughing at justice, or mangoes flushed for sniffing existence: that rabid brain, this sagic daughter, or such with hurt this friend—our bowels blazing, this middle earth, this severing lunatic: to sentence his mother, to exile our gramps, where aunts are sensing dysfunction: this psych penalty, this inner therapist, or days to laughing while gripping sandcastles: this barefoot, this reaching palm, or nails screaming in Mexico: our damaged guts, this mud organ, or this harp silent by pure fury….

…we could with life, this intricate code, this mis-haven maze: those long trips, this harvest in Canada, or eyes so Australian we fluster tension: at mind-pits, while looking at pity, to ask about such pitiful beauty: this fair creature, as so sick, and thrust from midweek to eternity: those grueling alligators, this caiman reality, those treacherous ‘transmitters: that rose, carrying mud, and discounted by nature: this long existence, this cramp aching, this gut trickling upon art-life: this saxophone, this wellic profanity, or beer seeming imperfect: that last cigar, this need for deep insights, this need for something potent: this losing battle, this man with problems, or poets too entrenched to sense freedom: that welkin poetess, this strange essence, or this absence for weeks as straining sensations: to sudden upon arrival, to sadden a living agent, where tarot speaks this funny language: this spot in Pasadena, this curious Buddhist, or this instrument jogging spiritual under-lords—at warrior instincts, needing this one reality, while denied God’s Reality: those banjoes, this underworld Christianity, or Africa amidst Californians—those ruby dippers, this dolphin monopoly, or years to guilt built inwardly: this crocheted shame, this gutted essence, as reality tramples its sister: this game with experience, this intuition as bleeding, this cut as so entrenched: our cauliflower, our sweetened broccoli, at intersections digging into concrete: that last blunt, this creeping mania, at nights reasoning through communion: this tiny vessel, as feeling life, with too many secrets to remain in solitary: our trumpets, our daughters, our sons—as mystic winners, afraid but living, to grip sheer existence….

…we nibble breads, we sip garnet, we exist as mini-planets: this quasi-sanity, this cup of dragon berries, or days to assailing our skies: this week to freedoms, this possession as laughing, or this spin placed upon something taboo: at appropriate debaucheries, or glamorized corruption, or this notion about, Denying our Conscience: as infant spirits, or seasoned spirits, or so engulfed our lungs are screaming: such butternut lies, or walnut deception, at tyrannies  exclaiming about tyrannies: this four hour chant, this door opening hourly, or this music attempting to sleep away injustice: at treacherous dungeons, or rumberry desertion, while asking for clearance….   

Dusky Fires

Dear Tornado—this mixture reality, this elephant magician, this affable sorrow: as livid liquid, indomitable souls, as people one body, or cursed for afflicted—this radiant countenance, this dying war, this powerful ass woman: this dream in Ry, this incorrigible faith, this splendiferous omen—at screams and sweating, at miracles and demented, or suffering allegories: those beige prints, this repeated history, or mother harboring harbingers—to cuss with leagues, as absorbed in mercies, while fleeing for permanent this region: our bones, Love, our scandalous demons, Love, or music so sweet we feel alienated, Love: this quadroon mystic, this Buddhist legendary, at christic lexicons: to sense Asylums, to race through Courage, or deaths spliced into surviving aptitudes—wherefore, this infamous mistake, this concerning connection, at bowels discerning this white/black catastrophe: as inner ostriches, or crying lionesses, or this tribe called, Judah: this lion tattoo, this snake with her dragon, this space peering at an infant universe: those calm perceptions, this psychiatric wisdom, this psychology for giants—this instrument, this mental piccolo, or daughters carving flutes: this woodpane conglomerate, this religious business, or capitalizing upon trenchant wars: this whisky room, those windy enchants, or one so glorious simmering in melancholies: our graphs laughing, our hearts warm, our chickens frying—as but a dream, staring at grandparents, to adore such with sheer disregard: that moonlit spiritualist, this swoosh invading, this snap as something fled: indeed, a miracle, this family curse, this intersected web—as bruised egos, at terrible harvests, to sense this colossal weed.     Dear Ry—this crooning knowledge, this cameo imagery, or those testy insights: to maneuver daily, as trained in camps, to acknowledge those Heinous Figures: this chamber of gas, this fence so electric, this feces festering near sleeping quarters: those camel realities, this blazing heat-core, to languish in unadulterated anguish—or fleeing for flying, aborted to battles, while shivering in ice cold climates: our overtaken instincts, this maze of margins, while one dares to claim equality: thitherto, this mind-state, this instant disliking, or raptures so pure we ignore Jesus: this infant crawling, this infant toppling, our grandparents laughing and nudging our futures: such melodic malaise, such terrible beers, or deer-eyes pleading our memories: this fatal thought, this fatal wound, and still with fire aflight a jungle: at ravished realities, at courage to persevere, at hearts speaking gibberish—this William’s enterprise, this Kierkegaard familial, or trenchant this Ezra experience: this King dilemma, this Malcolm revelation, or Anselm bleeding with resurrection: our forefathers, this Isaac industry, this Jacob battle, this Joseph ostracism: those burning cherubs, this boundless Huldah, or days to admiring works by those that claimed existence: to die with Elisha, or to take heavens with Elijah, as built for this treachery: our tunics spent, our brains rent, at tares wrestling with Yahweh.     Dear Reality—at such beauty, or differentiated poison, while encouraged to fly higher than ancestors: this split in personality, this limitless rivet, or soldiers carrying this societal torch—to pass an arc, to recreate a thought, or to surrender to something slow at pace: this coming change, this endless river, or this downtown memory: that inner Augustine, this pulling current, this crying with laughter—as more with reason, or warring with logic, or raging at Logos: this Latin fury, this European rage, or, moreover, this African pride: at prose affection, hearing pouty eyes, or feeling deep affections: at, furthermore, frustrations, this deck of faces, this unreasonable tarot: as young with seeking, or old with laws, to meet at instance this disenchantment: our rosy intestines, our terrible trombones, or cymbals so extravagant we perish: thus, we live, as creatures for reality, while spacial with intuition: this raging energy, this Jewish heritage, this Hebrew daughter!          

Daylight Phantoms

It feels like justice, but it appears unjust, where motives have become muddy: this semi-person, this semi-demon, at murals within: this margin’s speech, this timeline measure, or aches so rich we adore sadness: those ruby objectives, this empirical vice, or monsters seeming aesthetics: that fair skin, that portrait womb, or this relaxed nature going for rubies: our first orders, our last quarters, searching to rise through results: that winking spirit, those trenchant disguises, this unreachable audience.     I examined melodies, this rustic voice, those alarming passions—to die with guts, to arise with fair beauty, at tyrannies this veil of rumors: as distinguished souls, or distinguished ghosts, a bit helpless and lively: at deep our blades, this grassy mirror, or our glassy skies: (at frantic elation, a bit scared and gunning, a bit worried concerning old comrades: this small incision, this radical analyses, while days become phantoms: our locked doors, our major restraints, or pictures appearing in restrooms: this feudal ferret, this famous Venus, this velvet violet: whereunto, our memories bleed, our chimneys dance, as few truly fathom emptiness: this bowl of neckbones, this pot of backgammon, or ghetto goddesses far too appealing: this life we live, that soul fresh from dungeons, or this current sweat): this formless existence, this formless personality, to utter concrete lies concerning humans: this throbbing palm, this flared ankle, as one wrestling or provoking fires: at stigmata gems, or peering at a daisy, to sudden upon a bitter ego: this super energy, as originating in space, while agents provoke other explorers.     …you can live, Love—as better and breezy, to have life, while responsible for encounters: to protect self, to live as remarkable, or to abort this dying sensation: our sinews engraved, our hertz flaring, or ideals becoming life-like: such about shame, or such about regrets, or this deep annoyance: our mental gymnasium, our stardust Wiccans, or our exotic Israelites: those gowns, Love, they provoke thoughts, Love, they increase hopes, Love: wherefore, this slight infatuation, or that Islamic Empire, about crazy for invisibility: this bleeding sap, this dungeon root, this relaxed maniac—to frighten brains, as one insane, to legally abort mercies: this restricted fool, this hood too deep, this dignified black man: this cross, Love, this deep schism, or walking ten lives: those civilized replies, or this dragon laughing, or this sudden churn: to chase infinity, to feel while glowing, to realize Love was a participant: to see his face, to chance his anger, to fix his problem: this trenchant world, this underrated existence, this tale frigid in brains: our guts screaming, this person in heartcaves, this voiceprint mechanic—whereas, it was years that fool, it was months that psych, to realize why they shook her ass: this sleeping eye, this droopy insistence, this miracle as daughter: those guarantees, or pure disadvantages, while difficult concerning deadlines….     I made comparisons, I flew into mysticism, I felt good for a solid hour: this magic soul, this mental spirit, or majesty’s solace: at music fleeing, at tyranny submitting, or gutted for ruined laughing with Buddha: indeed, this open enterprise, this closed garden, or so relaxed our anima(s) are feminine: this reality seeping, this dread coursing, or our minds purchased by genuine feelings: at moons aggressively, at sunshine amusingly, or at grandparents curious to those thoughts: to Love’s eyes, or unlinking a picked lock, or thrusting through traffic a hundred warriors: to live like that, to die like that, or years living through freedoms: to smell a daffodil, to ponder a mystic, to exhaust a feeling: this yogi’s Legos, this deep psychiatry, this missing if too sappy to energize: as puppets, or claiming president, while Love laughs: this dialogue sculptress, this shatterproof mannequin, this penchant temblor—as steeling shampoos, to address a new helmet, if but again to feel that first attraction: this cautious losing, this winning security, to fly at flights blasted for slipping.                                

Good Breathing

…we commune lightly, at cherry tree patches, a tear fixated: this blatant curse, this human enterprise, to sprinkle a sad man: this facial glow, this woman ready, this family so closely knit: our dreams, Love, our screams, Love, or caring little about breath, Love: this vex burning, this immortal ceiling, to investigate a winning God: as fretted psychs, or games this vice, at levity feeling guilty: those shrubberies, this grape vine, or loquats with gin: this ghetto fruit, this ghetto music, to meet at tension a ghetto mistress: or classy our aches, this passionate sorrow, at cuts and terrible bruises: to suggest a problem, to blame his curse, while to ignore his blessing: this day to miseries, this name too repeated, or this feeling for something strange: this violet feather, this jasper sky, this marooned island—as differentiated, or secluded, while latent this burst: our rivers, Love, our tears, Love, or this miracle so patient it cries, Love: as lucrative dungeons, this dart digging, or its target askew: those few women, this sophistication, or admiring grains we can never clave: those jasmine symbols, this yellow ark, or treasures so rich we file bankruptcy….    

…we met in summer, we cried in December, or something so crucial this powerful machine: those languid diets, or chemicals for deliverance, or this remarkable group: to sense something esoteric, this close call, where authors are centered by cultic flights: that Hindu Psych, or Caucasian Memories, while quite enthused to sense Jerusalem: this Judah heart, this Lion Grave, or behavior becoming quite annoying: avoiding his prayers, seated at kettles, and feeling quite aloof: this caricature, this Life in secrets, this conversation at such a distance: or women so precious, or dreams so annihilated, while Love became a ventriloquist—or something cursed, or something becoming a desert, or something singing with Merriam: this fly-death, this hot fire fly, or years at a table sensing this disconnection: our spiritual rhinestones, this attitudinal whetstone, or days to despising his temperaments: this treble under-base, those colorful seconds, or this beautiful evaluation by screams: that livid heart, those angry skies, or our gods becoming humans: those last pavements, that abstract concrete, or hunches seeming unfair: that mental grackle, this gutty hummingbird, or this intestinal grave by antics: while Love laughs, or crumbles in fears, to carry adult pressures: this life by addiction, this winter by afflatus, or something too foreign to diffuse….

…to swamic existence, to sip in hell, to traffic a key—as men bent, or dice a million, where exists are harsh: our brains, Love, this fair event, those dropped tents: our deep projections, our last cries, or mornings trekking through book-camps: this sacred vow, this feeling for passion, or a dream for something proving exotic: this felt lose, our cities to fires, our blocks seeming our governments: this lethal reality, as cops invade, to show for uncertainties: this last tress, this limbic mystic, or born for failing as finally a winner….     …(we grow too fast, listening to blues, and sipping something crucial): this mental dragon, this inner bane, or poison so sweet as losing virginity: that first feeling, to lose all feelings, while searching for that first feeling: our jutted prides, or miracle years, where men tolerate something becoming his curse: those jota cries, this miserable memory, or passion so thick we dismiss myriad infractions: our mesto ceilings, this mystery in caves, or seconds to witness a clever psych: our brains, Love, this feudal advisor, this uncanny counselor: at ferric incisions, such immortal iron, to pop this last pill: our grannies dying, our fathers to prisons, or aunts too proud to suggest wrongness: as lethal creatures, or madness our dreams, sentenced to blank thetic replies: this person with ego, this ego wrestling reality, or theories proving as launch-pads….

Feeling Deadness, while Feeling Emotion

…this semi-darkness, those polished sayings, this gruesome attraction: to witness eyes, as speaking Latin, or palms examining nails: this deep luxury, this caprice appetite, or this Aristotle Index: our existential(s), our mental magazines, or our sky-haven modalities: that woman in turquoise, or our inebriated Overseers, or converse with souls keeping intimacies: this Brick Road, those flimsy rebuffs, or years waxing our living-room images: as distorted creatures, and trying for dear life, if but to re-balance this internal wheel: our eye-bed infatuations, or hearing insisting names, to realize as candidates becoming mental: this taboo illness, those stigmata mirages, where perfect prose becomes something to ignore….     …this quasi-ladder, this lantern in those eyes, or days at wonders while feeling quite human: as supernatural entities, this swoosh as reaching, or those curious glances: to invade Alcatraz, this mind-war, while we wonder about longevity: this slow response, this deep inquiry, to ask whether Love could satiate our ills: this running clumsiness, to assume that all is perfect, merely because Love has come home: this need for Steakhouses, this greed for full attentions, while dying to destroy this favorite blouse: our animal energies, this guessing enterprise, or this phlegmatic approach to possessing our warmth’s: this Madonna image, to inquire about passion, to sense that priests and nuns share something religious: this theme in brains, this suggestion by hearts, or miracles aloft this contagious energy—as deep enclaves, this tension in elements, where our armoires are shredded to pools: this flogging Abbess, this treasure marvelous for Satan, or days to entering while found so aloof: to kindle emotion, while bottled in frustration, where lotic lotuses befriend our inner serenity: those fabulous cries, that bleeding neckline, or ravished for feeling sultry: (I met something interesting, I drove my brains, I ignored something rising: as forgetting fluff, at pure emotion, to insist upon inner mechanisms: I lost my grains, I laughed in response, and was instructed to lose infinity: this pebble grieving, this underfoot horizon, this trenchant embarrassment—as one with Moses, or cleaving to Aaron, at something quite creative with Miriam—these  rubric stars, this weeping constellation, or days to thoughts that appear demented: (this woman in passion, this passion convoluted, or private thoughts that dictate something one-sided: this vex for beauty, that tremendous losing, where Love seemed abolished): this exhausting rehearsal, those vampire instincts, while challenged about human proclivities: to examine deaths, to refute epistemology, or to churn as destroying metaphysics: those complete loses, this mental galaxy, or turned for addicted to clergy women): our brains to fountains, our guts to something elusive, thitherto, our bowels riding our dementias….     I’m afraid of us, this digging farm woman, this plowing maniac: to feel something slipping, to realign our intents, or to engine a false attraction: this mind to wars, this building in psychology, while seated at something colorful: this wise femininity, those elements to brains, while some have perfected an intimate understanding: those umbrellas, this standing beneath, as signifying deep intimacies: our loins feeling frigid, or something that second, too long for humble harvests: as reckless men, or weaving maidens, where it felt good to entertain thoughts: this chimney of mud-skies, or this marvelous undergrowth, or this present perception shifting through omitted overtures: (those frontal lobes, this burning elation, or that ability to enter from afar: this Buddhist Reality, or yogis expressed through majesties, while some are familiar with this winning Galatians: those flowers speaking, this leaf warning, or this violent tug weeping for immediacies: as enkindled marmosets, or rapacious inner humans, hitherto, this insatiable mental pier: our guts trying hard, our feelings regarding sensations, or moonshine becoming this path to deaths: those screaming insights, or feudal receptacles, or life becoming makeshifts….           

Motion His Brains

We clave for violence, as achieved and losing, this theological castle: those red bangs, this hairpin glory, those Betty Boop tendencies: this redline, this fury with graces, this face too glorious for capture: those white jeans, as tugging hips, to explode a brain upon visuals: this fool at love, this fool at jealousies, or foolish for falling staring at penchants: those beige blouses, that checkered personality, or this wait for justice: as dying with gramps, or livid this mountain, to glaze upon our Promise Land: where Love was gray, this rigid mansion, as attuned to gloves: this cloth bleeding, this mud as bloody, our tombs as quite vocal: to cut with mystics, to live as crucial, while souls are claiming for, Solid: thither, this war, and thither, this curse, to enter Love as one addicted: this vicious climax, this aggressive expression, with Love as exclaiming, Passion: to intercut dying, with pure exhilaration, or mystic mishaps—to cleanse his guts, to exhale Jesus, at tyrannies this russet wine: those flares, Love, this brute, Love, as accustomed to fleeing: this bottled stream, this woman watching, this psych at demolitions—to groove softly, to streets but wise, as needing something so wild that God dies: this grief, Love, this trenchant empire, or this world proffering herpes: as aloof tactics, or upclose maniacs, to enter while feeling reserved: (for quick it lived, as pure in deaths, to afford another eighteen years): our professors cringing, our husbands certain, or brains aloft academic careers: thereto, this modeled villain, this cultured creature, as seeping into ecstasies: our lucent epiphanies, or tragic our disgusts, while peering into florid mansions.     I keel insanity, I love feeling good, and his eyes are white with admiration: this pint of cognac, this cigar with doubts, or living while yearning—those explored castles, this zeal with fantasies, this zest as fading—those rivers at darkness, this barren horizon, or this womb so fruitful mother tied her knots: to see as you, or to think as you, to realize a tragic existence: this flowered hostility, this orphic mystic, if but those ridiculous dreams: to fight inclinations, to destroy Don Quixote, while death was apt to perish—as folded intestines, pleasant this elephant, or at ends laughing at, pathos: this foolish bark, this reasonable branch, or St. Paul upon a chariot: hither, his mind, as opposed his feelings, to rewind aloft a gut-empire: this real instinct, to tame those proclivities, while attracted to strangers: that rosy gown, those inner pavements, or grout born to thrust his interior: this wild woman, as never for tamed, to age and feel for monogamy: this bent on reality, this scared queen, while watching gravity: those brilliant eyes, that mahogany flesh, those cultic thighs: as men fueled, for framed in passion, to attract a million agents: that old proverb, where we pick as chosen, while women settle: as destroyed with doubts, or aflame that season, where Love wrinkles through determination: whereat, this slain resistance, this woman as acclaimed for ruins, to damage our inner insistence: this radical orbit, to catapult our beliefs, as murky prowling mechanics: this owl whistling, those R&B Singers, or this stranger digging into mental-hemispheres: to imagine this weight, this nothing by men, as acclaimed as poets: that miracle Wonder Woman, this psych as weapon, or this man so enthralled he missed a blatant bruise: in crucial tension, this wall-like laughter, or this animalistic centipede: that pretzel goddess, this mental fen, or this hectic glen—to perish with lights, to resist pure evidence, while failing a crucial husband: this woman’s daylights, this woman’s morning’s, this woman’s midnights—to distress justice, as needing beliefs, while Love just bore an angel: this puce gin, this addicted loser, or this grandmother lying for resting: as dead to persistence, while feeling inadequate, to realize death was always graduate: our last dissertation, our cryptic ‘transmitters, where a group taps into flaring our survivals: this bread with cheeses, this dog with rites, or feeling close to sacrifices: this tropic language, those panties to ceilings, where Love would never but die!                  

Bacon Jerky

I dance with grace, alive as affected, adrift as ruined—this admiration, this bleeding sky-clave, or graves inverted and finding life: this guzzling machine, this grown ass winner, those purple vines: as dying for creative, or winking for demonic, to cut a bitten bottom lip: this remark as stolen, this gut as unfolding, or laundry too thick for soaking: this man ruined, this love as forbidden, this lethal ass gun fair: thither, our embrace, this afterlife mischief, to finally orgasm as one destined to pass forward: our curses laughing, this bottle in mourning, this woman at her business—as rarely a thought, or distant a feeling, to find Love eating a salad: our deep cuts, this liquid crack, or tales to this winning machine: as lost and gunning, fleeing into deserts, and arguing with this camel: those acting vices, this ingested ecstasy, at moons laughing at gore: this rude suggestion, that wise uncle, as filming with herpes.     I died in mother, I freedom’d in thoughts, but cold to deaths figuring my father: this aloof person, this pimp in screams, that rubric uneasiness: this funny channel, this harmful skit, or our president sober: this fool for thoughts, this crane for deliverance, or tales broken for wholeness: this growing infection, this spread through cultures, or days to feeling proud: as born for destruction, committed for condemnation, while adoring our persecutor: this invisible entity, this invisible us, this filleted miracle: (to adore this warmth, this bright-eyed daughter, as losing this slanted war: to feel with deaths, to drift with organs, as intoxicating our livers: this poker game, this global herpes, this meal with passions: to cut again, to lose as grown, while gripping to truths): that mobile winning, this deep stress-box, or this Danish observer: indeed, a bit tipsy, indeed, a bit Irish: this black moon, this deadly creature, as protected by active grandparents: as never to retreat, because tension war is trifling, and gut fury is righteous: this short grave, this black horizon, or pictures distorted.         

Mandarin Blues

…silence becomes crucial, that loud presence, this sightless seeing, those underground emotions: this fever in God, this ghostly evidence, this oxymoron: to die an instance, to sing of such death, as accustomed to one living: this bare blue dress, those casual denims, this remarkable blouse: our intimate thoughts, this plate of aggression, or miracles arriving after grave-sights: our days with malaise, our souls with uneasiness, to experience internal indifference: this challenging horizon, this pier of thieves, or reasoning which highlights attraction: those whispering candles, this palm of angel-dust, or grandmother working inevitability….     I seesaw pains, I drift as electrified, I thrust into pure silence: this repeated film, this reprinted faux pas, or legacies so entrenched we chance apparitions: those unicorns, those fables, or this fist full of ants: our crumbling concrete, our withering abstracts, to internalize total chaos: as behaved agents, or wildflower scholars, while pitching tents among non-endorsements: this fury, this woman’s sudden dislike, or this obvious uneasy state: to dine with music, to fantasize about flying, or to realize it becomes grave-nights: this sad orchestra, this meddling aria, as one so fervent it becomes christic sorrow: as fed his soul, as demolished his intuition, where Love jogs his inner compass: this torn assessment, to determine weights, while pushing a bit more than much: as dwelling his lights, to embolden instincts, to unlock our Qur’an.    

I read our Torah, I danced with thoughts, I heard intimacies: as afloat a dream, or afloat a curse, requiring pure obedience: this living dynasty, those acting monks, those legendary animals: this mainstay life, this bungee unthreading, or this reality at guts: this trickling ear, our nursed toes, our ephod grieving: this mental witness, this allegorical cactus, or hailstorms at midsummer: indeed, pitching ashtrays, or laughing for a second, to sweep upon fragments: this dusky air, this dusty wind, or fragile upon a dream: to need restructuring, to plead in countenance, or to wrestle with hyenas: this life of accidents, our incidental speech, or sudden upon a shift: to feel self-conscious, to peer at our mirrors, or to accept guilt: that flannel garment, those textured leaves, or this meeting with self: that long discussion, this shifting breeze, that sudden resolution: again, at sameness, fiddling nicotine, or something a bit crucial: this inner man, this outer behavior, our societal rules: as feeling screams, or living a tad weary, while recording neighboring afflictions: those henna memories, our statuette images, or this slight falseness: to come to grief, as one negotiating, while motion requires our attention: this feudal debate, this easy saying, while puffing our realities.

…silence screams at silence; this inner dungeon, this connected disgruntle-ness: this cooing wilderness, this rhythm made curious, this inveterate state of acting: those mental auctions, to slip into normal behavior, and relaxed until we notice: those inner agendas, this flaming secret, if but to relax our desires: this non-existence, at non-extremes, while haunted by mediocrity: that bouncing ball, this need for normality, or this tension with normality: for something is forfeited, while wildness is tamed, to realize a bit of wildness is required: those cards roaring, or poetry screaming, where intimacy distinguishes relationships: this faraway gaze, this inner sensation, as sages become students: to land upon cotton, to sip a taste of fever, or to collapse feeling with ecstasy: this world of indecisiveness, this interior of illusions, or years to inner montages: where life is but pictures, and feelings are but tools, while reality is but constructed: as denying a fitted peg, while reaching for consensus, to realize our living conundrum….                     

We Mural Fate

…true to reprinted thoughts, by reaching sensitivities, causing syrupy anxieties: our ethnic or colorless states, our fern music, where rationality becomes obscure: our scrapes in solitary, at public feelings, and reprinting internal noise: such wild beginnings, our ‘norms’ seeming controversial, made subject to indifferent tolerance: as stolen vessels, unable to record dysfunction, while leering at society: this ghetto location, this ghetto Brentwood, or such realities filmed through Sybil: those aesthetic cries, as artistic embodiment, but involved in absent behaviors: those clumps of grass, or weedy analyses, at facets pleading our clarities: such ninja confliction, such ninja addiction, insomuch, this ceiling of terror…. 

I flicker ash, while observing dragonflies, while seeping into sadness: this friend of ours, this familiar loci, where absence becomes intrusive: this cinema of dahlias, or this primary caregiver, or those loses while feeling pity for others: this deep confliction, at wonders about genuine agony, where it has become this method for entry: (at fiddling emotions, or gluing ceramics, or chilling potted coffee: this light concerning riches, this kingdom of desertions, or this silent discomfort): our souls inching, our rulers bending, our measures touching exhaustion: to find such joy, while aiding others, by reflection to remember we have forgotten our woes: (those windy clouds, those turquoise dreams, or this feeling by pruning repeated thoughts): this inner diary, this mental chimney, or hours rearranging soot: this company for men, this laughter for youths, where life hasn’t become this jaded enterprise: to admire souls, as dedicated fury, where one has determined to mimic motion: our sunrise roses, our ironic enclosures, to realize that ingestion equals rain.

…to dream with thorns, to read with vengeance, to absorb something subtle with reading: it’s similar to life, or cases being different, despite, such clumps of grass: this inner presence, those white ice cubes, or trenchant awareness: at lost-and-found, retrieving his instincts, while listening to wisdom-tidbits: our Freda empire, our re-valued politics, or that subtle ‘thing’ evaluating our participation: as feelings become art, or art becomes inclusion, while gazing at a glass of reality: this sinning soul, those sinful years, and this hunt for something becoming quite quaint: this breathing skeleton, those scarred sinews, and this emotion fretting its horizon….

I admire discipline; I chisel failures; I arrive seated in penance: to feel existence, as deliberate this chase, even while stationed in meditation: this prep-school for seekers, this reality for patience, and subtle to life this growing intolerance: that inner secret, while speaking softly, while churned through vortexes: our memories becoming judges, our feelings taking precedence, where right-and-wrong possess little jurisdiction: (at cleaning his claim, where some are adamant survivors, while many are suffering for justice: such faint lights, as to strike wonder, where we inquire of intelligence): this place for rivers, this soul for deliverance, or aches staring at human static: that gray cart, those tetras wounds, or moments sensing something acute.

…we telephone feelings, we ignore emotions, and we function as super-humans: this fire by agonies, this web by exclusions, or flame becoming an internal language: this fight for dominance, those souls for justifications, or this anti-insistence: where arms are folded, and symphonies are raging, while passions are arousing inner sentiments: those sudden tears, those deep crystals, or this looking away…!