…we
germinate, a tyranny ecstatic, our radical great parents: those intimate
memoirs, our flooding caves, our brain-ships: to die as slaves, volunteering
for shackles, while looking at emaciated children: stricken with poverty,
hunting for integrity, our stubborn highness: to lose Infinity, needing
reciprocity, affected mentally: those unfriendly, antisocial quirks, listening
to soul food: our daughters unaware, our mothers dying, our fathers trying to
protect innocence: this failed enterprise, this sinking ship, our children
looking strangely: as burned and buried, or bronzed and sanctified, such sick
reciprocity: this city by names, that Morgan Bank, or those Jewish Empires:
such old money, befuddled with practices, a chuckle, a giggle, our lives whisking
winds: at deep dialogues, wrestling with mirrors, spacial and listening to
laughing developments: this winning hatred, this winning poet, where loses have
spoken in Arabic: those immortal whips, those immortal land-sites, or such
immortal mentalities: our delicate culture, our angry culture, at language that
singes our eardrums: to seethe with patience, our women requiring riches, or
settling in desperate moments: to sip and smile, to think and laugh, to
entertain in something proven as crucial: those mystic feathers, those
sky-volts, to remember but concern: at liquidated assets, at steep liabilities,
seated too low to acknowledge: this campus of racists, those anti-enterprises,
or complacency ignoring its harmful pomegranates: our splattered blood, our
mangled flesh, our postmodern slavery….
…a
morning cigar, a Jewish prayer, an African Proverb: looking into Europeans,
wrestling with truths, while convinced that goodness
possesses such reach: staring at Psalms, fiddling pages, stopping an pausing:
to feel such pain, to lose sanity, to become Nebuchadnezzar: as arisen in
Daniel, even a new, private name: those trenchant lusts, this confused state of
affairs, while dishonesty seems to rule our galaxy: our broken pledges, our
vetoed vows, in minds where life carries volume: thither, our curse, hither,
our women, while struggling for deeper breaths: this voice in dungeons, our
rolls of mystery meats, our Malcolm X prisons: as becoming something lethal, as
rebuked and stripped, while whipped internally: such menticide, Love, such
needs for tender flesh, if but to redeem this typical nothingness: if by you, than inside of you, where one recaptures
masculinity: at racial disputes, at demons with Saul, or at parallels with
Paul: those clanging eyes, those rubescent lips, or that dignified chin: to
perish such justice, aside its corrections, where Love acted in ignorance: to
punish a man, about something irrefutable, while unaware of unsaid infraction:
this karma existence, or non-existence, at samurai instincts:
those bold delivers, that instantaneous thump, or this trenchant ass mystic:
where days are misfitted, while evenings are recounted, at nights seeping into
meditations: those fair castles, this slave bodywork, or minds so adjusted that
wrongness seems appropriate…we die
this space, our sphinxly koan, where
enslavement became this interior activity….
I
was sick for Love;—needing that aversion, fist fighting atmosphere: I died in
Love, as carrying affectations, and still with chains: as here for accounts, or
there for controversies, such riddle and majesty: as further than intimacy, and
richer than climaxes, or more important than existence: those pyramid feelings,
our tapered Illuminati, seeping into
intimate meanings: our shift in slaveries, our de-mechanical approaches, at
years with deaths and feeling excited: to know a secret lie: if pits keep arising, than demons are
losing: indeed, such reaching proverbs, our broken reality, this head as opposed to its tail:
to cry with whales, to laugh with hyenas, or to cringe with Shakespeare: this
roaring fire, this woman’s heart, this man’s deaths!
