I
keep with motion, so asleep and cringing, or so alive and dying: this broken
moon, this heathen atmosphere, or trenchant webs disgusted with soul-wars: our
guts, Love, our passion, Love, this invisible connection seeming concrete,
Love: as men forced to survive, as kettles whistling to Majesty, or claimed for
ruined living in palatial shadows: our remorse for winning, our remorse for
dying, at terrible, engrained frustrations: to love with pride, to exist with power,
or failing for gathered listening to Atlantic voices: this bipolar catastrophe,
or feel-good highs, as classified as class one: this wrenching depression, this
valve of elation, or this universal nudge—where mother was queen, at fire to
fields, where caves became our adolescence: those wretched laments, this
core-Jeremiah, or days at something feeling intrinsic: our church organs, this
abstract dilemma, or personal concepts unsupported: such kinetic satori, this pregnant gesture, this
pregnant introduction: as aloof but personal, or personal but withdrawn, if but
to evaluate this hankering disgruntle war: hereupon, this letter to remission,
this ballad to Yahweh, or this duet singular but afar: our jota moods, our mesto colors,
by sadness adjusted by beauty: this fool raging, this moor in guts, or our daughters
forced to believe in resistance: this feudal ache, this anti-universe, this
private solitary—where bones aggravate, and children mimic, while grandmother
senses this mural of catastrophes: our blanket eyes, our rickety bodies, or
joints squeaking in anguish: as born for winning, but denied its kernel, while
droplets of sorrow dictate our realities: this twinkle of sunlight, this
rushing fever, or this web of silky lies: to feel dramatic, or even distant, to
analyze existence as one tragic fib: if but to perish, or but to exhaust, while
flipping with flipper—this Asian Eye, those insync Africans, or this European
exclusion: as granny watches, holding tight to loyalties, while feeling this
scent of ashes: our red palms, this drilling profanity, where skiing seems
appropriate: at steel-toe-boots, clashing with doorframes, while insistence
permeates our departures: this small lexicon, this trenchant curse, while
needing father to be nice: this tale for reception, this song for saints, if
but mommy a gentle soul: our snuck insights, our cloudy emotions, while both
are approaching a tare coldly—this inner homecoming, that rendered graduation,
while woven into destroying a large inheritance: this future distress, this
local therapist, at sisters attempting to shed envy: (our mothers proud, if but
with death, where gramps becomes emphatic: this tall tale, distinguished by
souls, where absence determines our imaginations: this easy slang, this do-good
example, while daughters are experiencing hell): indeed, As long as I feel good, and as long as I live life, our daughters can
deal with those hells): that King in OT, that child beheaded, this miracle
with existence: at honor with shame, at shame with feelings, at feelings with
sheer disregard: that nervous hive, our nervous shakes, while parents laugh at
highs feeling Jesus: thereunto, this petit claim, this treasured insurance, Your father is a stranger!: in truth, as
all was explained, while family members scream concerning free-thoughts!: this
modern-life slavery, as coming from slave owners, a bit immersed in black
culture: if but obedience, if but complacency, if but utter dictatorship over
thoughts: That bad man, that mulatto
resistant, this figure claiming more for life than our offers: that cold disease,
that triumph in make-believe, where we determined his future: Those cold
bars, that sulfur to brains, our triumph over God’s Child: thereto,
this wretched soul, this wretched conjecture, where reality speaks its tragic
voice: at cuts spelling, at oceans laughing, at piers mourning: those rosary-beads,
that Casket Cross, or this belief that Christians/Buddhists are permitted to do
as one wills: this
daughter-slaughter, this magic if born to living, while destroyed early enough
to cause damage: that endless sandbox, this endless defense-wheel, or this
permanent exile despite our dying daughters!
