…our
ceilings, about blasted to ribbons, staring for tripping into debutants: this
trifling legacy, this ghetto of survivors, that lady too charmed and blushing:
our initial feelings, smothered by dialogue, to grip, grab, and release: those
young seeds, picking for choosing habits, a bit explosive with philosophies:
our daughter’s cry, our agonies stripped, our noise butt naked and dancing: at
terrible cadence, our mornings by trapped thoughts, looking at door spiders: if
but with luxuries, this blind-spot, our Northern Kingdom: at Nebuchadnezzar,
our filthy nails, our bloodshot insanity: to scream upon Elijah, to father a
nation, while so reserved we barely heard…therewith, those sad bowels, such
irritation, to pop a pill: this fool with literature, this half built island,
our ships carrying new species: such by cargo, these brutal seas, at Judge
speaking my vernacular: our dear Exercises,
our pardoned Green’s, or monks too horny for monasteries: this small
feeling, this killing sensation, at Smith proud about blackness….
…we’re
dying but writing, we’re rabid and sane, our great grandparents—our ancestors
laughing, plus, feeling good, to perish for something becoming socialized: as
creatures distorted, but close to lines, where yoga birthed a treasury: such to
energies, such to hearts, to reread and feel: this inner wisdom, racing for
blossoms, to bud and pebble and resurrect: that winter fire, those summer
angst, while so to anxiety it’s hard to secern: our guts, Love, invested for
dying, Love, while territories pace in army formation: that man to sins, that
mother to loyalties, to wonder why so many cut left: our orientations, our
father’s sincerity, to wonder why I need
to get close: this terrific rift, this hysterical cloud, while God is wheezing:
our last bottle, our treasured flame, our poetry leaking into angelica: those cold
Figurines, this Cartoon Empire, our children rained upon fires: those cages, as
becoming friends, this antisocial priest: thither, by curse, as birthed to
roses, to account for terminal pictures: those lactescent daisies, to need
something deadly, but too evolved to subjugate: this fear in men, this need to
conquer, while committed to blueprints: that mass suicide, this outer
spacecraft, to imagine one selling such recklessness: those tangible ape-eyes,
those intangible ghost-vibes, to feel as something rises: this black purple
reality, those red yellow tulips, as abandoned and feeling fantastic: those
radical faiths, this inner Quaker, while so mystic it felt hell to kiss
goodbye….
…something
is screaming, literature is destroying, where something has evolved: this tale
of sea-grass, this blasted facial, our mud becoming mayflies: that inner
tadpole, this leaping frog, our audio blaring through ocean green wilderness:
to perfect with deaths, or to die with Wang, our cuts filled with helium: that
rescue in balloons, this dynasty in bottles, or this ship lodged beneath eyes:
at secrets writing, at Mechtild a bit crass, indeed, this element in brute
beasts: to move like snakes, our bodies contorted, to climb trees attacking
sloths: that ridiculous outcry, this ridiculous man, while so fervent our
nation is cringing….
I
lost potentiality, I gained an intimate friend, and It was hell to perish: but
Love was sick, this fear a past Love, while transference blossomed soon as of
late: this wretched sloth, his wretched intentions, to ruin for damaged and
scared of life: that penis trip, those hounds, or purposed for intelligent
ruins: this birth in Queens, this death in Kings, as gods took certain
jurisdictions: this body rocking, this muse too beautiful, this fool pulling
backwards: to achieve insanity, where Love is insane, to have pleasure
returning to mediocrity: that famous Dictator, that comfortable Ambassador, our
miserable luxuries…!
