…our
mystic wounds, our kleptic appetites, so spaced and mastered: our morning
dairy, our English muffins, so controlled by feelings: emotions misspelled,
souls mislead, or minds mangled: our bodies complaining, our bones rickety, our
guts convulsing: those brains aching, those brains screaming, at agony kissing
anguish: those times, Love, this anima, Love, at tears and torn, Love: our
mystic wounds, this yogi delight, this proper relationship: those lines
uncrossed, this planet in cores, at sins laughing: to slip passed, to enter
suddenly, to realize an everyday thought: such imbalance, interior skunks,
sipping on something gentle: our passions valued, our hearts capricious, to
happen upon a thump: while shaking nicely, or scratching ears, as so fair our
losses: this evil justice, to stream through hurt, to realize we never loved:
that easy challenge, this walking mirror, to discover something intolerant:
this hatred for men, this misanthropic contagion, while mirrors seem to speak
too loudly: while forgetting gazes, lost for aborted, and raging at society:
our mystic cries, our mystic wounds, our interior lakes: if but to live, as
something must die, while building a fortress: our daughters giggling, our
mothers watching, our fathers in tears: as something lingers, this public
society, while coddled into certain rhythms: our nosy sins, our choice
mistakes, while a child is introduced to mayhem….
…it
fairs with gold, this silver ruler, this diamond hologram: our women so
beautiful, or ruined with life, as appearing provocative: to sing with passion,
to sponge a zillion, while sophisticated enough to relinquish appearance: our
days counting, our symbols speaking, our tolerance for impatience: as abrasive
nightmares, or caring catastrophes, where a man ruins his mind: those flights
for souls, this writer’s affection, those cures so damaging: such beauty, to
state it simplistically, as a man sacrifices over two decades: this tale about
newness, this rich appetite, dreaming as captured in valleys: our neighbors
vigil, our backs to jackals, our souls to lionesses: so gorgeous, so physically
ridiculous, as a man bites more than Solomon could chew: at tales laughing, or
stating our interests, where our skies are tumbling: such attitude, such
vulnerability, such rich denial: to ponder a soul, after brief an encounter, to
cross paths four years to brains: our dying ponds, this blue duck, this dyed
goose—at miracles by agonies, while Love is dedicated to becoming noticed:
those depressing years, those depressing smiles, to feel as if three years are
ready: at casual arguments, at casual clocks, while gravity attacks our
physicality: such unphysical rituals, such NARS and lights, as men watch,
shift, and fish for screams….
…she
made impressions, those outstanding miracles, as tracks and roads spoke
pain—this foolish alimony, this foolish matrimony, our first born with
tyrannies: as spaced and livid, as concerned and craving, while adorable spells
catastrophe: our charms so innocent, our months so quickly, those hellish,
demanding, even dynamic thirteen weeks: that announcement, curdling his guts,
for Love appeared so free with life: our needs so secret, this thirst at
goddess-hood, this need to retrieve worship: as driven souls, so resplendent,
so devastating, so elastic—at highs our youths, at adolescent praise, while we
search for childlike admiration: this film on reply, this valiant triumph, where
a woman goes crazy for certain men: our obvious charms, our obvious deception,
while Love digs and digs and dies: such mystic wounds, such resonance, such
symbols and keys: this flying frenzy, this flagrant digest, at digital
dynamite: those restricted elements, or so gone and so seductive and destined
to capture a zillion hearts: so opalescent, so giddy, so grown: such
intimidation, as trying to keep pace, where Love has died for those seconds: our
bleeding networks, our casual sins, our trespasses seeming electric….
