…so
feared by pressure, electric with fire, above board deemed as reprobate: our
curious grannies, our fair witted psychs, at levity with parents: that dear
commandment, our serious reality, where experience contradicts precepts: alike
to men, or radiant spirits, aglow an office looking at horizons: this secret
pleat, afforded great distance, otherwise, purposed for agitation: our laughing
guts, our narrow gates, while buffered by pure insanity: this cut, this slice,
this piecemeal abandonment: our daughters’ anxieties, our sons’ angst, at
adored principles seeking by injustice: those fabled courtrooms, this fabled
lawyer, our ankles shackled: as grandpa dies, or alive with sorrow, above anger
feeling melancholic: those bright dreary eyes, that confused child, our bowels
boiling with refusals: if but to release, those beasts in men, where sensei(s)
spent halve a trillion through centuries: at thunderbolt knowledge, or running
for feeling filthy, our cadence flippant throughout this universe: to cut
dreams, to fathom fathers, to feel a stranger as near our intestines: this
blood blue mischief, this blood blue war, at tears confused with mercies: at
casual abortions, years to mirrors, to meet our first born…. I never knew you, but ever I know you,
where power hits causing a sneeze: our itchy flesh, as bones to our feathers,
while so relaxed it became apparent: your soul, Love, those brilliant
tentacles, our nights seeping through Al Green: if but those pomegranates, or
oranges plum violet, while dipping apricots: at soft music, at Jericho
laughing, while glory punished our instincts: those brutal Assyrians, forced to
enslave, but condemned for taken such privilege: this riddle in sand, those
other prints, our daughters’ cleaving to sensation: as mounted camels, or lazy
canines, where catnip inspired a colony: that fair betrayal, as laughable
nonsense, while mother called it more than falderal: our chimneys bleeding
soot, our minds bleeding legacies, our souls aching for three months: at livid
frustration, thwart and abused, where Love seems a dead person: this lovable
number, as confused with grime, to forgive so much Jesus is weary. …ignite for us, and love for us, and weep
for us: that burgundy sackcloth, this torn flesh, or sheep seeming prophetic:
those absent kisses, this absent license, or so absent but too close: that
festive calmness, those trifocal crystals, those inner moganite(s): indeed, at
quartz, or roaming literature, those daily visions: our bowels so enchanted,
this voice as lonely, our rivers as captured: as but under-siege, if ruined in
battle, to limp to justice: that ship with slaves, those rebellious slaves, to
uproar and die as slaves: but yours is gentle, at years bleeding, so skinny our
souls have called Jesus: for this is life, that silica nature, those inner
boats rowing into pure pain: that thick sludge, this human feature, while
brains are too slanted for therapy: those ruling captures, this snail seated at
millennia, or graves walking and spewing digests—that chalcedony woman, those
brown cryptic eyes, our nights seeping into injustice: to have with violence,
to love with violence, while violence became our deaths…(I’m cold my nights,
I’m glory those heights, to imagine syrup, grip, and distance: at stardust
livers, at purpose charismas, while speaking from arcs: at beige moons, or
Taurus hearts, while bathed in pestilence: this mother of five, this father of
ten, while children remain a mystery to souls: this flexible swooning, this
flute as dear life, those clarinets as dear my cross: this sleepless web, this
resting fugitive, our graves about our tendencies: this misuse of power, those
teal flowers, this turquoise millionaire: at billions with centipedes, or
taking advantage, our nights spent loving something unreachable: our media
dreams, our Kerry enterprises, or psychs that different life): as adoring something Lebanese, or
something Arabic, or Jewish to grains after life: our black swans, dancing in
anguish, our toes gunning for swollen: at trillion dollar trysts, such a
thousand winks, or so infatuated it’s best to redeem adoptions: this furious
cave, our mental petroglyphs, or this frenzy moving through adult life: as
women skating, or men wafting, to curse with vengeance: our inmost needs,
conflicting with inmost desire, to gain in age proud to have surfed.
