…we
die flitting existence, such alienation, Love, or terms too complicated: this
inner milieu, those dazzling feelings, or souls scraped about soil: our holy
children, this holy voice, this patient voice: at unphysical heights, while
claiming breath, or at Sia laughing with control: those media eyes, those
Batman gadgets, our Joker Empires, or delicate that Catwoman—if but to perish,
those strawberry shakes, this pastrami with chili, or agonies with feel good
expressions: our bones and bowels, our brains and billiards, or badges beating
our integrity: our inner Penguin, or this radical Riddler, afloat Scarecrow
Cities: such pity for failure, or strange lakes, or strange eyes: this poem
headed towards, Love, this feeling as dynamite, or looking at white souls
fretting our inheritance: to think with Alice, this life so fraught, while
alone a notch teaching children: this miracle dance, those chases through
gravel, or this Lex Luther massacre: whereupon, those golden eyes, that welted
flesh, those casual screams: at pure frustration, or varicolored emotions,
traipsing this scenic valley: our dreams, Love, our forefathers, Love, our
souls electric by both ethnicities: such polychromatic pain, such aerodynamic
episodes, or ‘transmitters explaining mystery: those casual souls, as bleeding
inheritance, to read through Sirach laughing with Wisdom: our inner
mockingbird, this symbol as relentless, or pigeons performing in unison: that
crate of silence, that skating violence, if but this gut your charms: to huff
with patience, to attract as unbeknownst, if but this high-rise trophy: as
alive, Love, despite misfortune, and mesmerized by promise….
I
find solace, Love—at spacecraft dimensions, Love, even swooshing at moments,
Love: this tsunami atmosphere, this spiritual kaleidoscope, or this soul as
unexplained: that chartered champion, those chaotic cavities, or this creative
kryptonite: (while feeling rain, our eyes those seconds, or this person her
intensities: those flying webs, to sprint with spiders, as red-flush attaching
to liquid membranes: our wilderness, Love; our mothers, Love; or granny feeling
too extracted to die: this pencil grain, this eraser so potent, while Father dances
with Mother: this earth of potential, this heart explosive, pondering the children of Hannah): our locomotive
heart-threshes, this incredible heart-market, or this feeling needing but
resistant to tears: our ruined harmonies, this flower in Mechtild, or years to
studying Gertrude: our fabulous cries, our cucumbers with cayenne pepper, or
days speeding into free-flowing agonies: that bent upon life, or those opaline
eyes, where sewers, by chance, flood pure beauty.
…chicharrones,
Love, and tender pork chops, Love, and eyes to laughter, Love: this foolish
participant, this idiotic carnival, or those truths once mentioned to bring
solaced angst: those tendencies in souls, this picture in Love, or those
moments detached from other opinions: at music, Love, at memories, Love, if but
to fly as lucent as bats, Love: our colors by travesties, our colors by wishes,
our screams by dispenses: this fuel to bring smiles, this light as mere
gesture, while speeding this galaxy: that sharp mind, that need for closure, or
that need for love…!
