…torn
and disruptive, angry at social scruples, longing for pure discomfort: those
purple eyes, those glacier grins, at gin and tolerance: our wines with terror,
at midday dreams, as infused by utter destruction: our empty beds, our nightly
voyage, as composed of silvery feathers: our oiled skin, our dying waves, if
but this attractive nightmare: (I die in panic, this wrestle with pain, this Cognac
with compassion: at furious screams, as social psychotics, while deceiving this
mirror: those shamed thoughts, that rich insecurity, to walk held higher to
respects: our troubled cages, to rattle unlocked, as one enlove with future:
those incisions, those tiny peeks, those outrageous concerns: at myriad
frustration, our teens wailing profanities, our minds slipping our grips: to
perish thinking, to revive while thinking, to die, resurrect, and float while
thinking: those dreams reflexive, those iguanas dancing, or this chameleon
mocking: at anguish and stars, to presume sameness, while deeper thoughts
suffer more)…. …at body heat, or
temperaments, attempting to see your life: such violence, such deaths, while
you emit a perfect insistence: those casual lies, that fearless toothbrush,
while adored for slippery behavior: this crew by emptiness, while haunting for
presence, while one entertains but fails to clamp science: our grains with
sauce, our rice with peanuts, or shrimps sautéed and scorched: that second I
loved, those lies as so real, this fool feeling disaster: that achy rib, those
gardens pleading, our swords bleeding: at soldiers one life, at warriors
maneuvering, or dissecting sociopathic instincts: to fail occupation, to become
embedded, while tugging for yanking bowels: our terror to live, our horrors to
die, while passing for misfits….
I
rewind to us, this cold nylon, those hidden sheets: to perish waywardness, to
enter giggling, at thoughts considering intimacies: those heights for Jesus, as
if this remorse, to cut corners smiling with maya; our dark delusions, as perfect and soiled, while carrying
odors: indeed, a cryptic wailing, those men as deceptive, to rearrange one’s
existence.
Gnarly Soul
…but
to importance, at love this ache cooking independently: passing left, clearance
to right, while stranded in-between: those inner cakes, this outer feeling, at
adored friends apologizing: for something cancelled, and something exhausted,
while ghosts charged blankness: those trips yonder, meditating upon highways,
streaming our Pacific Coast: at Love believing, at darkness a reaping light, or
accustomed to something unsuited: this deep responsibility, as maintaining our
statures, while opposed to mingling in foreign circles: that want for echelon,
this tale so cold, as Love was rejected: to burn with praise, to try but
forbidden, while one was bitterly honest: that lying reflection, that lying
man, while Love crumbles screaming, It’s
true…!
…those
casual disgraces, those, too, avoided rumors, or keeping science away from
spouses: as, too, concerned, after pure subjugation, politely advertising
darkness: those laughing circles, as everyone knew, but Naïve was at a deficit:
indeed, it means nothing, and death means nothing, and infection means little:
for they need that, or they love that, for Love loved such entrance: this wet
cascade, those tripping muscles, our realization as laughed upon: those cries,
those deaf replies, and father felt proud: but more to agony, over something
beautiful, while we relate something quite awkward: at Love fretting, to pursue
something righteous, as opposed to repeating this muddy cycle: those septic
eyes, those dungy lies, those deep fires….
