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!
