…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….
