I’m
wide asleep, something arranged by mid-brains, or midwife sorrow: this skunk
mentality, this ape’s charm, or inner crocodiles: but a glance, such untamed
derrière, or purpose to skirts at magic: to name guts, to insist for chances,
as two bad and un-behaved: our old riches, this inequality, or pure equity: our
father’s Light, our mother’s grave, to feel such realized guilt: those wild
delicacies, that woman’s wisdom, or psychs feeling our strains: if but for
crazy, as son to father, where absence built a maniac: but presence to bones,
as something insufferable, while mother never distressed disaster: our chilled
wines, our inner music, while staring at glittery skies: this dead adventure,
this cold grain, this slain professor: to gut his name, to charm his pain,
where such beauty suffocates: at warm rivers, laughing insanely, as met upon
midnight: this significant shadow, our mental powers, as arranged and
dying. I have such pride, to plead
for vision, to suggest comfort: this mélange of petty screams, this weight
empire, this meat with cheese: our a.m. wines, while claiming indifference, as
but an anchored excuse: our serpent clouds, those reasons thought passion, or
this snowball of pure indiscretion: at laundry soaking, at curls rewound, or at
mystics feeling insecure: those scarecrow eyes, this non-flattering image, or
appeal so strong that one retreats: at tents giggling, at tracks running, or
torn for damn near destroyed: this life of deaths, this woman at ease, this
song at disguises: our heat-hearts, our heart triumphs, or this old folk-blade:
where Love was raw, and forced his hand, to arrive asking of whereabouts: those
inner sermons, this rapid church-bell, those literary thieves: at gravity with
kisses, at moisture feeling opera, or raging for riding this harpoon: to accost
heart-tares, to orb insanity, or so calm Love gave in—this wild excursion, this
passionate scream, or our indifferent mornings—while Love is agonizing, at need
for relaxation, if but to carry such iron: at barefaced anguish, or barefaced
intelligence, forced to endure soul-aches: that pensive songbird, those
rapturous body-blankets, or this late evening shower: our radiant dreams, our
inner parachutes, or men failing to suggest, Love. Life is candescent, our beams in horizons,
this woman seeping through thoughts: those powerful brain-caves, this fulgent
fire, by splendor and aching for strengths: those crimson prayers, our sweaty
blood, or years to avoiding Life: at terrors giggling, at Reality with fears,
or crutches an ass running: those saintly agendas, those tares invading, while
one attempts to avoid mental parties: as shook and rising, as dead and
grinding, where Love egrets churning: this tare as pillows, those stargazing
cabbages, or this Catholic deep at discernment: our Ignatius cries, our seismic
universe, and this mid-range fireball—as affected and gunning, to enter and
mud-lake, a bit too feral for sophistication: where nectar is sweet, and
reasons are abrupt, to sense something filthy: such raunchy lies, such deep
subliminal, while flickering forbidden ember. I feel unphysical; I live as metaphysical;
and I attract as living in closeness-silence: those waves raging, this energy
thrusting, or this inner jury: this scratchy flesh, those aesthetic dresses, or
pants too clingy to ignore: our pensive, wistful empire, this refused kismet,
or our trembling loins: as occasioned for distress, while arguing wildly, to
lean into a friction kiss: at cultic fire, or christic Jews, or photic ink:
indeed, as mislead, in black sunlight, where rainbows are suffocating: our seashore
minds, our deep annihilation, or churning for running through alienation: this
nearness lying, this farness laughing, for brains are so indebted: this feel-good
passion, this excruciating sky-war, at skiing clouds: those cloudberries, this
red puce, those inner grins: at aches and deathless, at death and lifeless, as
pure but paradox: that last smile, so broken with heart-mail, and that texture
of intrusion: to peel an orange, or toss a pomegranate, while effected by
facial expressions: at something difficult, or drumbeat night-fire, while so
entrenched we beg forgiveness.
