I
flame silently, infused with grapes, fermented and dancing: this black blue
mood swing, this incredible passion, those dying increments: to have addicts,
to know parrots, to redeem sitting in limes: our brine with liquor, our turkeys
with gin, our mothers laughing maniacally: as granny pushes, a bit for wisdom,
or grinning no apparent reason: at serious complexes, a fool for Love, a maniac
for presence: our Logos Empire, our
nerves rattled, our cages unveiling: those tragic veneers, this tragic winning,
to encourage daughters towards something relaxed: if but his brains, if but his
body, intrigued for released: this battle upon islands, those ghosts our
mirrors, this rag keeper: that boosting scripture, to boost a heart, while
running for gunning insanity: that perfect dove, those reckless thighs, this
maniac beaming: to die with envies, a jealous fool, at Love a smidgen with
broken roads: therewith, our inner privilege, our outer embarrassments, to flip
with dolphins: those dark secrets, this dark blanket, our years to intimate
cotton!
I
flame forward, a sensitive giggle, afraid of saying too little: this fuse-box,
this fox-life, our chess pieces by strong hopes: at Courage with logic, at
mother with distance, while waiting for appropriate behaviors: this pale psych,
those pale rules, while needing something from scum: this loquat ghetto, those
loquat wines, or spent with cigars: that puff city, our damaged lungs, at
therapists minding particular concerns: if but for art, to decode Berlin, to
witness walls collapse: at burgundy oranges, or jasper plums, while mother
cooks a ham: old school rulers, to invent survival, a household of winners:
indeed, or running numbers, our wives in treasuries: those blank lies, that
stepping forward, to reverse as interested in one watching: those rooms, at
granny’s business, where grandpa was a maniac: our inherited names, our
problems with stuffing, our scalps screaming for oils: (as one lost, stretched
into cosmos, where Love sits as stuffy as sentenced): if but penchant love, or
apricot mentalities, or watermelon on Christmas Eve: as agony infuses, where
one is lost, if misery abandons his guts: at Love angry, at Love impassioned, or
gunning for myriad pleasures: to sense connections, to avoid rudiments, to flip
a flipper: thereto, those 501’s, those turquoise hats, or Love painted for
Sunset: such abandoned feelings, such courageous environments, at loud language
or pitted in a tux: those canes, Love, those fifths, Love, this whispering
incantation, Love: as foreign to losing, but, indeed, he lost, while myriad
pigeons suggested dishonesty: at Lords blinking, at Kingdoms shattered, where
Love was a Spanish Empire: at Europe dying, if but one ignition, to fuel an
entire planet!
I
flame thoughts, alive for standing, while impassioned to rethink our cultures:
those long-held behaviors, to sense something dying, while unaware of such
strong delusion: our mothers at a loss, our fathers going with traffic, to
wonder while Lindsay had a breakdown: this smart winner, this losing Empire, or
suffocating while looking pretty: at men with vengeance, at women occasionally,
while her brains are influenced: this watching cousin, this scared husband, if
but a day to miracles: our bleeding noses, our threshed livers, our guzzling
but water: at midnight battles, our children sleeping, to hear a cry in
mother’s intonation: this life as romantic, to abuse our guts, if but to perish
at ninety miles per second: but (arts are good, passion is enthralling, while
mother is deep at Xanadu): or crippling habits, this semi-dead-living, our
souls at great grandparents: about our generation, this hell-hound, our
official bankrupt intentions: at Love with every touch, at dreams forbidden,
while behaving as if above notches: to split a Caprice, to purchase a Chevy, at
hydraulic experiences: our android faces, our metal emotions, while bleeding in
private curled in corners.
