…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….
