…affection
so sweet, perfection as radical, perfection as disregarding: those radiant
greens, those innocent eyes, as deprived of perfection: to perish with pride, a
pillow to his grave, to resurrect at dawn: those beautiful flowers, those
wonderful caskets, to sense love and resurrect: that gorgeous dungeon, as God
appeared, as chains raddled: this maven woman, this kleptic soul, this rung
knell: as deep with darkness, or deaths seeming sullen, at summer gifts: to
imagine midnight, to conjure daybreak, while empty for lost: this woman’s
pride, this woman’s diligence, to imagine uprooting Europe: those
classifications, this damage to love, this irregular mora: to pause and sneeze,
our feet tingling, such as effulgent heat: to beat hearts, this melic telegram,
our daughters sensing something acute: at deep perfection, those doors
watching, those facial insistent beasts: to die while living, to live while
ruined, as souls sensing our secrets: our stop signs, meaning little to deaths,
where exhilaration spoke about deep kef….
…we’re
so young, but half way through, and disregarded dearly: to sleep lightly, to
enjoy our sorrow, to die and fuse existence: at Ezra penchant, at Rousseau
speaking panic, or watching Seneca: those dark souls, at white flesh, and
fretting existence: our hospitals, our deep seconds, at therapeutic lenses:
where Jesus is counseled, and Yahweh seeks info, while our Ghost infuses
intensity: those hard secrets, those unvetted facts, while experience takes
precedence: our subjective Kierkegaard, our political Machiavelli, or souls
outraged by James Brown: our reckless abeyance, our abused headlights, at river
mid-city—those angry colors, this benighted gin, at sins and purpose while Love
is nervous: our lunar appetites, our legendary Aristotle, our theological
treatises: our Augustine Confessions, our
mirrors reflecting such implosion, or days to reading through Anselm: this King
mentality, this Luther Enterprise, where many Christians have never heard that
name: to lose with violence, to dance with sharks, while snatching off remora
instincts: this crazed man, this winning reality, those loses effecting change:
to cry with Jesus, as wept near Peter, as to admonish sleepy appetites: our
inner Isaiah, our crying Jeremiah, at Lamentations
feeling sickly: our hearts at whispers, our ludic moments, to erase those
former fears: our perfect plans, our perfect song, as life demanded obedience….
I paramour
mystery, as one demented, while Love came and Love lost: such vatic limbo, such
prophetic cries, at daughters sensing a messed reality: to know something as
normal, but feeling unsteady, where normality becomes a given situation: at
worlds penchant, at worlds nervous, where one might suggest dysfunction: it’s
comical, or heartrending, while souls force through nightmares: to appease a
tyrant, as never ending, while death appears to normality: such fruit, as too
dynamic, where a daughter much confess hatred: if Love loves us, I’ll love him, but if differentials, than death his
guts: those alleys running, those valleys gauging, while professors are too
deep for relaxation: indeed, our lotic venom, our sworn love, where nothing
interrupts determination: so more to floating, and more to our kind, and less
to seeking fantasies: our damaged guts, our ruined intestines, our raw, oaken
nightsong: that feverish inrush, that core explosion, as to meet while fueled
by intensity: that charm-bracelet, those charm-eyes, or this charm-death: such
lithic concerns, this battle with Truth, or
darkness inverted leading to spectacular science: our bleeding days, or wretched
patience, or dejected lovers: at foot to pavement, at Love to brains, at ether
to souls: to deceive Love, as love acquiesces, while we hate Love: such regret
fuming, those graves furious, as we demand a battling partner: at guts
impatient, this summa volta, while without Love it appears ghostly.
