I
bounce through logic, I’m a bit impartial, to wink at esoteria—this bold
creature, those women at love, our dreads, plus, hang time: at remarkable
fancies, livid as insane, or bowels so balanced it’s eerie: this starving
mystic, this anxious poet, or prose too sick for science: to admire, Love, this
prolific psych, our brains at energies: to back away, while pushing forward,
those crafts afforded true genius: this interior genotype, those treacherous
phenotypes, or running for chased to pause and give: indeed, with silence, our
brains at battles, this housewife blasted: those Zanex lines, this morphine
tux, or something a bit frowned upon: our secret closets, our secret lovers, as
living this life called, Literature: those
cold alleys, this abandoned kitten, as now a cat fleeing into repercussions: at
laughs a real soul, to chuckle at nonsense, while competing for front row seats:
at trillion dollar passion, for a ten dollar Negro, while dice felt alive
though ruthless: therewith, that eighty mile grin, that undercurrent glowing,
those resplendent eyes: at fools peaking, this tool with tears, to yearn for
something he shouldn’t have: our colors raging, our attraction trickling, our
daughters attempting to find solace: to feed by demons, to retrieve through
grit, while father knew action: this mother-complex, this infuriated
grandmother, at mallets slamming pegs: if but to perish, this marigold garden,
this mystic flower—those cries laughing, at instant redemption, and returning
to trespasses: this interior magnet, those interior tulips, at naval base
insurance: to fly with essence, those dark hallways, this mental vestibule—if
but to womb-arts, this incredible master, to give at tenuous satisfaction: at
stubble groans, to happen upon scientific, or something stretching brains: this
talkative novella, those acts by seduction, to whistle pulling forth
butterflies—or deep at curses, this hummingbird omen, while water swooshes at
earthquake powers: our graves goggling, while dangers are afoot, to become
angry where birds escape.
We
must forgive us, in order to receive us, or deaths shall prosper—those
bellicose veins, those bellicose therapists, this bellicose baby momma: indeed,
a bit cruel, but try to smile, while experiencing this manifestation: our ghost
wives, that poker chin, those green lights: to vanish at notches, to reappear as
phantoms, where Love was bright-eyed: our daredevil sighs, this woman reaching
peaks, as right across our laps: to pause and grin, to push a bit further, to
stand and undress: in passion a maniac, in trusts a fool, at panic this
voracious leviathan: our blues come Christmas, our lost-love-powers, to
christen a radiant pendant: our guts for liquids, our banana nut bread, at
penchants rebuked but pushing forward: those old splinters, our New Year’s
sewers, or trekking this interior zoology: at trenchant concerns, our mother’s
lecture, while dynamics spoke alienation: as little violence, or small rages,
at petit dreams: if but with cognac, to face our infractions, or else, to
desist: our names chasing us, our groans speechless, our professors warning us:
at terrible concerns, with our best behaviors, to maintain for months: but life
is cruel, our eagles leaking, while a phoenix waits by luxuries: this maniac
lover, this loud and rude friend, those pushy increments: to become aggressive,
to intimidate a giant, where discourse seems too enchanting: our blood green
eyes, our hazel latches, to unveil a dynamic masterpiece: this provocative
damsel, too rich to capture, and longing while intimate—if but to resurrect,
where size means little, if but our brains, our hearts, or radical intellect,
coupled with spiritual-dominance: those creative forces, this exterior hill
court, to appear before celestial judges: our conversation, while planting one
seed, to redeem our first overseer: our dreams, Passion, our love, Attraction,
to swim while dry and gifted by curses: those fumes so early, those ancient
grandparents, or mother’s husband gripping her son’s throat.
