I
felt illumination—this feral animal, induced by inside/outside forces: our
screams bottled, to open and faint, at deep influx: such crucial reality, such
rustic intervention, such cryptic dialogue: as one saddened naturally, to
ingest happiness, our days barely at literature: as needing more, or losing what’s
passion, to invest in soothsayers: our carefree souls, involved in motion,
searching for buoyancies: our physic insights, our powerful thumps, as
confusing aid as intimacy: this atypical love, this sense that days are
crucial, where it felt good to shift dynamite: those pantomime mines, this mime
allergy, to hold a daughter’s palm: as music lightens—this vest of decencies,
while sensuous thoughts are directed: otherwise, crucial, as thereinto, our
mirrors chasing our running spirits: indeed, to your soul, at ridiculous
conclusions, as if to suggest you aren’t human: this novel dangling, this
novella shoving, at night silence: our courage to listen, our daring energies, while
saturated in concentration.
It
was you those years, it was us those days, and it was others in-between: at
torrid oceans, our faring sea-smiles, our trips to some island: or bitter
reality, on a bad evening, filled with strong anxiety: as pacing our minds, at
love our lots, at inner manipulation: such calm motion, such rigid arks, at
something devastating: if but to fly—our flowers at sunrise, our souls cast to
invisibilities—those singing songbirds, this swooping hummingbird, or to sudden
upon wings: this small/vast galaxy, such deep remorse, while seeing something
sprouting by delusion: but based in facts, this drifting stem, our clumsy
infatuations: therewith, this rippling fear, to have what souls possess, to
hold for life this charm: where arts are rules, as politics are flares, while
passion became cruel intimidation: those running halves, as chasing their
bodies, where a good session brings wholeness:
our screams snaillike, our sounds to crashing, our hearts thrashing.
…such
lifelong brevity, such dusty dry lands, such arid airborne feelings: to stir
emotion, to fling emotion, to enter skin and rumble: to pray by differences, to
live an acrimonious existence, or to become too holy: as much to life, staring
at similar beliefs, or wet but empty: our deep convergence, our taboo secrets,
our rushing hours: as sprinting into majesty, alive with humans, to trust with
soul this galaxy: our rushing rivers, our faucets dry, our respect adjusted: if
but to live, while serious our conclusion, our minds at swords our guts at
lances: if but to rebirth, this incredible resurrection, while days vacillate
by intensities: our epistemic eyes, our stoic landslides, if but those seconds
showering depression: to take our course, to seek out succor, while too
prideful to perish: as but those deaths, while chiseled calmly, at rusty
pillars….
