I
imagine dialogues, cornerstones, and Babylon: this young daughter, this huge
world, those existential shards: roaming galaxies, reading literature, or
becoming Zen: this peaceful sorrow, this machinery power, this conglomerate of
frustrations: that blue moon, at mother’s wits, partaking of peaceful homes:
our habits molding, our treasures unraveled, our omission seeping into our
marrow: untold tales, lying frenzies, or goodness enduring its punishment: too
much too soon, too little too greatly, as vanishing into crowded loneliness:
our welted memories, our jogged sentiments, our cherished few: such mental contacts,
such intestinal phones, our cellular(s) raging throughout citadels: those
beautiful cranes, our invaded skies, at skis and inhibitions: our first
encounters, our awkward knowingness, our fumbling manifests: to relive, to
rethink, to be imbued and sacrifice life: those small persons, such innocence
aloft, while we mold characteristics: this infinite job, this introduction to
Job, or such biblical controversy: otherwise, so empty, or chasing dreams,
while somewhat impatient: this pathology, this mean insistence, this casual
undertaking: our chase for joy, more over pain, and justified despite rain:
therewith, this daughter’s charm, this son’s gusto, or father’s stern gaze: at
granny laughing, at tears smiling, at portraits removed from life: our acrylic natures,
our tones in fluorescence, our gifts constructed in second grade: this treasury
for parents, this box that closet, this place mother dwells: at patent
miracles, at gravy with existence, at money and chance and dice—this field of
attributes, to explain, Ultimate,
while feeling apophatic: those mystic
delights, this mystic family, or those pragmatic rules: to guide eternity, to
live forever, neatly tucked away: our souls flying, our gentility received,
while adverse to certain characteristics: our dreg cities, our dreg ways, our
interior ghettoes: such drug abuse, such loses, such rigidity: indoor traps,
outdoor traps, at this life insistent upon gathering figs.
…someone
seeped in, by this fortress of doubts, while doubt is liberating: this misfortune,
this hideous creature, while quite imprisoned: such paradox, such beautiful
matrimony, this plethora of written dilemmas: to adore creatures, lost in
worlds, such marsh and fens and mayflies: our short existence, peering into
daughters, if afforded such greatness—in which, we breathe, if but again,
gripping something we fail to possess: those long necks, those tired glens,
those gusty eyes: as men needing obsessions, if but to soar, if but to lay
claims to existence: those wiggly toes, those structured responses, while such
innocence has been exposed: our street knowledge, our remnants, or this
yearning in humans—if but to fly, if but reception, if but social acceptance:
hereinto, our carry-along mirrors, this self-consciousness, as it raves so loudly:
at moments feeling insync, at tragedy thrown to wolves, to readjust and find
solace: this thinking principle, to realize rules, while fashioned, thereby:
our casual goodbyes, our uncomfortable hellos, where so much has been knitted:
this dear swan, this fairer person, as flying in details: our books laughing,
our studies giggling, where father pines for instruction: this neat prayer,
this corporate understanding, this business-like contract: our stock-exchange,
our interior casinos, at a particular thought ten years running: our life’s
work, our pursuit to overcome, our survivors becoming lecturers: if but with
song, something melic sensation, or telic advice: this thetic memory, this
thetic woman, this thetic distance: as cool at times, but off-putting, by
thinking she appears: this visitor in Psalms, this valley of darkness, this
illuminating trouble-spot: but yours is success, while adrift through spaces,
to have something so decadent: such vernacular, such high-rise linguistics,
such daily motivations: to write as lost, to find as captured, to throttle
intelligence: our black resistance, our inclusive hearts, our miracle
manifests…!
