…another
boarder, this sensed disbelief, those primitive gestures: this fool dreaming,
this catcher by ghosts, to bite inner cheeks: this trickle, to taste sodium, to
paste a lullaby: our vows running, our dimensions shattered, our yogis holding
our glue: this desert of ideals, this psych considering addictions, this
therapist sensing something genuine: at awkward communication, and filled with
abandonments, or luxuries inverted: mother’s birth-date, this sudden upheaval,
or years to perfecting this craft: at saints whispering, at idols resisting, at
Eminem with vengeance or shook for tortured nibbling urn juice: our core
beliefs, this mountain by disaster, or this need for sorrow: indeed, this crazy
value, this Sartre enterprise, this Camus industry: as livid Existentialists,
or radical deep crises, where Epistemologists redeem this vest by Science: if
but our scars, to salute our value, where others would dare to
congratulate…this guru quiver, this sliver for rites, this mother that
explosive gut: this cave-in, this floor-bed, this attic of ants: to ask
concerting life, this authentic adverse, this bed as dying by squeaking—as men
gunning lights, as bulbs laughing insanely, to enter this last spaceship…. I’m sipping, Granny, and thinking, Granny,
while sleeping, Granny: as coming humbly, to lose horribly, where mother is
aching in Salvation: this blurred picture, this blurry time-frame, as
accustomed to dying with patience: our black clouds, our burning leafs, this
warlock disaster: to dance with Wendy, to rebuke Wall-Keisha, while digging
this Korean Swahili: indeed, by Africa, or ragging his mind, or flippant in
Egypt: our living sensitivities, this bleeding color-wheel, or jasper
elimination: that last death, that first glimpse, while volts became quite
important: this nonchalant response, those depth insights, this volt screaming
with radiance: this field in Love, this Latin category, or swimming with
non-beliefs: if but our Hindu friends, or Sufi energies, while at lights
reading about Kabala: this Jewish relaxation, this tinge by Yahweh, or this
naming misnomer…. …this couch rages,
this curio assails, this cradle became her credenza: those draperies torn, that
mirror destroyed, those pictures as scars: while chests bleed, or futons blink
a salient story, as that shoji screen is patent mis-abuse: those vowels
laughing, this impediment laughing, this grit smiling: to know for goodness, while creeping for badness, to refuse that abilities are
captured through self-agency: this tuffet screaming, this ottoman redeeming,
this ferret cursed as living in utter darkness: that short lifespan, this
seduced reality, or kilns exploding into hot metal: our grind forbidden, our
rules changing, to deny one while worshiping another: our abated helium, this
over-exhausted quilt, or hours into feeling slaked: this rapt’d curse, this
immortal curse, this autumn-ranged curse: to redeem tendencies, while
forgetting years, while traveling through dimensions: this silent miracle, as
studying disorder, to gain an ear for kites: this deep ritual, as communicating
daily, to possess a particular curse: this gift to sunlight, this star-lit
magnet, as to pay aby our charms: this court awaiting, this field demanding,
this fool leaping for parts of reality…as father becomes skies, or mothers dreg
for solace, while some women prefer our ghettoes: those chocolate cosmos, or
that ghost orchid, our palms flitting into foliage: our reamed songbirds, or those
Japanese white-eyes, peering for arising into American gold finches: if but to
resurrect, if but to die, while reading falderal: this empirical nonsense, this
wrenching curse, as daughters float into fancies: that remote relationship,
that darling everything, to commune and disappear: this freedom for dying, this
freedom for rushing, while finished for destroyed a second towards miracles:
our guts, Love, our minds, Love, our repeated histories, Love: as Zeus for
Asteria, or Magdalene for Christ, where Light become a mistress for Wisdom:
this hidden woman, this slight monster, this feuding Mrs. President: as living
this soil, or digging this soil, where memories are pillaged by mis-our-souls!
