…we
taxi brains, a bit livid with dynasties, a tear concerned with mother: her
treasured soul, those verbose intelligence, or those sharp, stingy insults: as
men flying, and looking morbid, in dire need of Neutrogena: as little pups,
laughing at profanity, too close to mother to call it normal: those young
figures, blatant with cries, and repressed deeply: to know for love, this
abnormal creativity, or leather belts to bottoms: our dens aching, our lions
with mercy, our Daniel’s fleeing into grandiosity: those fervent dreams, those
torrid allegories, our literal interpretations: to float a star, to grip a
moon, to engulf our Son: such heavy obedience, such steep resentments, while
mother was oblivious: our harsh dynamic, our harsh words, those introjects unto
ruins: to meet mother, alive a lecture, those golden god-eyes: this bad liturgy,
this Apostolic, tongue weeping, maniacal monster: with pure compassion, or a
pint of something, or a gram of literature: while minds run, while hearts
gather closer, to feel reluctant while drawn to such caprice: those rabid
sayings, our children laughing, as daughters mourn loses: this insanity at
fountains, this cursing sailor, those times doing ninety down freeways: our
father’s joy, our neighbor’s irritation, to sense something open and naïve:
that green, knowledgeable instinct, that deep fawning for chaos, or this option
to retreat: those dangerous souls, our skies saluting, our Lord a bit
challenged: as days would shift, those three a.m. arguments, or this abandoned
wit: to yell at traffic, to reminisce upon walls, or to glide as partly apathetic:
our cut ribs, our nightly woes, while rooms were quit intimate: if but to
surrender, while one seeks God, to adore this mystical element: our yogic
hearts, that swoosh come ten p.m., or travesties morphing into pure energies:
this young smile, or that old soul, at an origin centuries into our awakening….
…we
adore mother, we loathe mother, we demand fathers to subdue mother: this maniac
contestant, this freebase armor, or that puffy, sweaty face: to garden
something dysfunctional, or traipse desert islands, where something could erupt
at a given second: that reading woman, those deep glances, that all night,
weekend catastrophe: at pure liquor, and talking raunchy, a bit intimidated by
whites: to know this history, our cherished background, or those wilderness
thoughts: where office was misery, and chancellor was sorrow, and ambassador
was Faith: this day to glory, this marvelous mother, this misguided, dead to
us, remarkable woman: those sunbeams, those open doors, to invite a son to meet
our Holy Ghost: as ghetto is, as
ghetto was, this place for deep
worship: our aunties crying, our cousins feeling good, our extended family at
prayer: this light abused, this treasure abused, this step-father feeling a bit
towards repentance: those forgiving tendencies, this monster poet, his fair
mind: at lab-work yearly, at disease daily, while exercising something told to
psychs: as a nomad, condemned to passion, or a tiny patch of eczema: that
teenage lunatic, that teenage queen, our teenage profanity: to gaze at
sophistication, mindful of portions, where stories are partly told: this owner
of sections, this self as debated, while a number of hypotheses circle our
cores: at mother with love, at mother with anger, at mother with tiles: this
mathematical flooring, this reformed son, or that recovering mother….
…such
social location, or theoretics, or plain misfortune: to sense a paradox, our
steepest hostilities, where musicians, poets, and artists erupt: this pianist,
this violinist, or this drum kicking psychopath: our torrid relations, our
harbinger cries, our determined mothers: to apply pressure, while dying softly,
afforded one last chance to victory: those tarnished wires, those discolored
fences, or those experiential libraries: while daughters mingle emotion, and
professors write essays, and scholars tend to our universe—this fire in
dysfunction…!
