It
became insanity, this methodical lying, our skates scraping asphalt: our sparks
rising, our souls crumbling, our friends at laughter: this trenchant need, if
but sole desire, as offended as enlove: those clanging bottles, that odiferous
trash, our succinct eye contact: at bowels dying, at love shivering, and headed
to court: this family cringing, this daughter aloof, this song upon deafening
ears: our voiceprints, our ashes, to swoosh into an angel: dramatic pudding,
our cookies with cream, our father’s ovation:
…those
years intermittent, this faucet repentance, while accused as an acapella
catastrophe: such vindication, such a false existence, while proud into a
sightless atmosphere….
I
noticed, Love—this small frame, those floating leaves: a manic countenance, an
inner glow, a provocative essence: aside grandiosity, lying to mirrors, happy
but penchant: those blue cactuses, at tragic euphoria, looking invisible. I tried to hear, but moving with wonder,
and wandering this veil: at travesty and disorder, this bipolar projectile…it
arrives before us: this shaper of thoughts, this huge galaxy, this psychoactive
mystic: to thump his heart, to feel alarmed, while seeking plural reasons: to
share with Love, this moon-ache, while trespassing molecules: that shift in
stunts, as ever a ploy, to imagine a wall forbidden—this deep gut, our brains
dripping, our lake turquoise-burgundy: as pure art, at such darkness, while
afraid to collapse.
…we
become particles, this shattered miracle, this distracted conference: our
seasons, Love—at denims and damage, at damage and disaster: to spin into
justice, alive a thin line, while east bound: such traffic and rehab, such
high-minded nonsense, to have forgotten those years: at slight mockery, to
assume he left—this life of realities: as threshed and diving, as acute and
laughing, while he couldn’t miss beyond orientation: those cold rooms, and so
many years, to presume that shadows are wicked: this liquid tinge, at the flesh
of men, and preserving semen: those cellular responses, this course through
Infinity this powerful reminder: our receptors giggle, as Love ate, to murmur,
mumble, and make madness: our days starting, our hearts moving, our nights to
something at courses: this violent window, this mocking insanity, or this need to
break with society: at neuronic fleece, a beast to existence, a gorilla feeling
lost….
…such
absent deaths, battling an artificer, while pondering this essence: at redwood,
at terror-feelings, debating something shallow: to invest in winds, those
passing emotions, rising but cautious: to remember this life, somewhere around
forty, while trespassing womb-memories: those midday yawns, our chemistry with
strangers, our fair but faint hearts: at much ado, laughing and feeling silly,
or too serious and unsteady: it tells that way, it lives that way, and it dies
that way: to suffuse a feeling, to sip and dine, to grow weight and repent:
such slender contempt, such delicate irony, at weight looking to vanish: to
become bad at this, or tragic at that, if but such love as never to perish:
those aesthetic eyes, or that shift towards dungeons, while feeling fatigue: at
tender delights, at spacial conferences, while moving realizing danger: those
studied realities, this sylph in permanence, projecting and flinging thoughts:
our cursed lives, our telic show-money, our brown dice: those rounded edges,
this seven back to walls, or this zenith gut-piece: that thread reminder, where
Love was gentle, while Love spoke life—at tears for millennia, at wistful
cries, to look upon something holding its remedy: at such brilliance, to ask a
simple question, while reality speaks to about fifty seconds….
