…so
dense with meaning, so telic with sacrifice, at memory explorations—to grimace
and shake, to die as reborn, our lights agonizing over circumstance: this sad
poet, this winning poet, to first lose with deep anguish: this courage cycle,
those interruptions, our minds snatched by beauty: those galaxies, at raspberry
yawns, or pudding cosmos, while invested in chaos: such puritan souls, such
realists souls, while reality contends with perception: to gather at graves,
stuttering and baffled, our souls beneath our guts: if primary sanction, than
primary relation, to agree that time claimed its mercy: by which is rain, by
which is agony, while slaves feel ecstasy…..
…by
deep arrival, looking forward to invisibility, while partaking in something
distinguished: our parousia eyes, our ekklesia
brains, at tears those days but dry: some achy feeling, some achy cries,
searching for deep catharses: to plunder acacia, if but for fuel, as opposed to
dying with grace: those vicious tales, this raving agenda, to imagine one
plotting to pass out deaths: such raging zeal, or destitute emotion, this
desolate desert fire: to roam islands, to invest in solitude, while feeling too
pregnant for mainstream: our first message, our last destiny, while so involved
it’s difficult to break loose: this man and issues, this woman and problems, to
come together needing remedies: our dressed cedar, our biblic palmer-wood, our
marvelous Lamentations: to slice existence,
to select participants, while mirrors are gathered at wilderness….
…let’s
decree Life, this beautiful vehicle, while selected by participants: our
jingling thoughts, our lemon feelings, our disheartening distress: or something
that day, as pointing at joy, to announce a son was born: such dusty days, such
deep decay, roaming this furious, ferocious freedom: at true thoughts, to
realize a missing link, to ponder those deep generators: to spurn emotion,
while emotion pushes forward, at something agonizing pure presence: those sweet
moments, a bit foggy, a bit sweltering: those sandal-straps, our quick consent,
if but, as never I would: such
perfection, such security, while speaking to one dying to get home: our lovely
wives, our curious souls, while callous enough to maintain our parts: or
listening grayly, knitting those whispers, tangling with invisibility: our
writing hearts, our mental calligraphy, our social penmanship: to watch goats,
while attracted by goats, to withstand in order to remain holy sheep: our deep
appreciation, our radical anticipation, while associated with dying….
…it’s
never enough, so how this light, while suspended in lights: those budding
feelings, those budlike palms, while humans are meant to persist: to climb
mountains, to conquer rafting, to ski upon sky-ceilings: our brains yanking,
our yokes yawning, our terrors as treacherous tremors—those inward cemeteries,
this falling catacomb, so invoked it becomes chaos: those demigods, those
tender atmospheres, to realize this precarious passion: to rebuild daily, to
reignite feelings, to dance, sew, and groom something secret: to impassion our
guts, to strengthen disposition, if but everything for everything: this
dying/living soul, this mad woman, our meats with sauce: our brains with cuffs,
our romantic, golden and sanctified cuffs: those longing memories, this
climatic ingredient, while tugged by those sky-shivers: so unruly and laced in
rules and dying this incredible living: our nights with passion, our social
impassivity, while engrossed enough to possess a separate life: as blending our
evenings, as pulling at sanity, to share something distinguished: those acrylic
insights, those silver imprints, or those suggestive heart-winds: this war on
Life, this war to capture it, at wars with inhabitants: that fragile chorus,
our trenchant intuition, while tugged to participate….
