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—.