I
hack silence, something gently, at arts and crafts: I die living, I live dying,
at Love a bit angry: this six foot monster, this casual seeker, or this brutal
force: to perish adventure, at seas and silence, or ferocious segue: those deep
guts, this evening passion, to realize loses: those boss cravings, this sushi
and wine, those lobster tails: our nights at converse, to fall for gentility,
while angered as hell: those tossed pillows, this sweaty sheet, those wafting,
solace odors: at miracles giggling, at psychs with grit, at therapists a bit
concerned: or by Precious, this lively creature, filled with engrams: to sense
while flying, this kite serenade, those days so early: mother’s height,
father’s wrestling(s), while purple with turquoise: those jasper wines, this
burning heart, this touch at spirit: our daughters laughing, our grannies
crying, at grandpa a bit discredited: while uncle tries, at this wall-fence,
those burgundy wires: this gash and blood, this trickle and life, at prompts
confronting particular shames: if but to rebuild, listening to Marvin, at happy
rivers: those neck bones and sodium, this cherished mother figure, this
mis-represented maniac: that outward zeal, this Achilles Heel, at turmoil
stressed with gravy: our affects, to change a swan, where father knew women:
this tale turn, this telic terror, at treason and terrified: our bowels,
Cygnet, our souls, Irish Emperor: those pragmatic effects, this flux in
shivers, or private thoughts mutilating ambassadors: at rhythm and rebirth, at
fire and feral, at Kleenex and Kilograms—this mission in its quest, this pith
so embedded, those curtains remaining shut—to live as dynasties, this Chinese
Legacy, those African Trees: if but to die, while so deep, to orgasm speaking
in silent ears: while seized by violence, this rift as sentience, to run
attracted to sensorium(s): this blood/blue elation, this pant by breath, as one
ruined but hanging in space.
I’m
sipping exhaustion, as livid a dream, while feeling acute remorse: this
fragrant grave, those old veils, where mother spoke to insanity: at home there,
at tears there, while yearning for another culture’s normality: to sense
high-standings, pure intensity, and this atypical integrity: as apathetic
cries, or sensing something senseless, to invoke this feeling: at missing
links, or a different disaster, at cuts and bruised to pass right those curves:
to flog and sob, to repent with penance, at lakes and fires and stumbling to
Jesus: our broken high-tales, our whelmed guts, while comparing high-societies:
so green those seas, so red those cheeks, at tyranny about strangers: this
error-fool, those ave wishes, this
urge surging into battle: if but those arms, to eradicate this challenge, at
ardor upon prows: that flippant moon, this sunshine woman, while musing Minnie
Mouse: such cartoon reality, such serum and guts, while Love was sipping.
I
thought perfection, to heal this kiln, while Love is lost: our wilderness
grackles, our inner city songbirds, where father knew exhaustion: as rebuilt,
and esoteric, where women were charmed, and grandfather sits a longing face:
this horrible situation, to sense something dying, while only one person is
proud: to wonder deeply, concerning vicious, while forced to agree: but hell to
that, and more to you, this bird running silent upon chirps: our orphic souls,
at pure dementia, while gathered in gardens: at feudal concerns, while growing
intimately, at waves and ripples and scarecrow senators: those blue guitars,
those red saxophones, or that burgundy violin: while father knew women, as
mother knew men, while both settled for lies: our crux bleeding, our furtive
lives, at strength, if but to succeed: that bag of bacon, our last batch of
eggs, or this jar supposed as jelly: if but to exist, if but to die, if but to
live: our puce wine, our garnet gin, where dominoes slammed all night: a sleepy
child, a reverted membrane, an awakened adolescent: at granny’s motion, at
claret suns, at russet memories!
