I
see blue you; as something invisible; as something tangible: those future nuns,
this sick future, those curtails but veiled: such Truffle Makeup, such solvent
hostility, as more than patsies: our common pasta, this trickle of rain, those
core convictions: to adore mother, this miracle disguised, our whelming coping
skills: at world views, this fist with tears, our internal Fahrenheit—those
sore staples, our jaded inhibition, those aluminum soda caps: to sip so gently,
to imagine a Woman’s Work, while so
disillusioned: this day of love, to validate what’s valid, while invalidating
what’s invalid: those things we’ve done, this wrenching agony, those purple
pantomimes: as beating hearts, closer than drums, to do with silence: this
interior courage, those sonic motions, to invest in something deceived: to die
with passion, to live with passion, as dwelling in something incredible: those
poetic rings, this prosaic everything, while adoration comes with making us
happy: our oily noses, our fire with patience, to evolve into this miracle: as
cut and ruined, as ruined in terrors, to slice with agony those skies: this
bleeding cloud, this reckless soul, to perish holding one last palm: those
tendons in Spanish, this Arabic insanity, to course as falling for Europe: our
guts chiseled, our deep differences, to anticipate something working its magic:
while angered for bothered, such excellent unmasking, to become a vulnerable
human: at rich concern, this sniper ego, in which reliance becomes
temperamental: those smoky eyes, our interior Red Sea, while nibbling poisoned
perceptions.
Psychic Interruption
I
was guidance, suddenly thrown, as meditating you: this tale of life, this
skeptic infusion, at deep thoughts: to wander and wonder, to die and live,
while purposed to be without: our Buddhist Tactics, our Zenist Cries, our pure
frustration: at green moons, or teal sunshine, at mahogany getaways: this path
screaming, our legacy short lived, our leprechaun out to breaths: those miracle
lights, this supple evaluation, this winnowing fan: at love and disturbance; at
deep disillusion; while so gone for this invisible entity: our daughters
musing; our souls with hostages; our sons writing their first poem: such
excitement, threaded by vinyl, or rebuked and falling into sadness: but nothing
matters, but those torn feelings, but this rejected us: this mountain of mishaps, this landscape of
terrors, to evolve so close our natures torn asunder.
…return
to midnight, as struggling daylight, so close it ripples: such tragic
confession, to need a novitiate, while students offer zeal: or grown women, too
sick for coquettish, too lonely to ignore flirtations: at blue sensories, while
catching images, where father sat patiently: our traffic brains, this frog
crossing streets, our terrible non-confession: as livid creatures, to desire
closeness, if but to evaluate inner sensories: our bowels grumbling, our necks
so stiff, while rejecting unwarned digestion: such high status, such sullen
stature, upon this holy adventure: those energies, if but those souls, while
images flicker at odder seconds: this pitched cadence, those pictured
realities, at adoration feeling insensitive: those revved totems, this interior
pillow, to collapse, disappear, and perish such love: our cured emotion, our
salami passion, while gnawing and feeling unsated: at blacker mornings, or
restored brains, or sunlight as benighted: this foolish fever, this gruelish
nature, where children are screaming for guidance: our chopped roots, listening
to realism, while such has lost its appeal: at gravel trails, at coyote
dangers, listening to something lacking intensity: those beige leaves, this
cyan horizon, to awaken about invisible walls….
