I
see particles, so gifted with terrors, so enchanted with invisibility: a quick
thump, chased in return, at musicalities: such drumbeats, such cymbals, such
eye-enhancers: and still, so lost, and still, inadequate, and still, winning
through loses: those gestures, Love, this ache, Love, such instrumentals, Love:
as forgotten with time, our frightening existence, our treasured trespasses: at
dear agonies, enlove with slow conclusions, while permeated by fast sinning: so
involved, those ghostly images, this spirit-typist, (those trenchant
incinerators)—to know for certain, such dark disdain, while Anguish feels knitted:
our dead days, our dreary responses, our railroad survival: (at dear
distraction, forcing a slower pace, while consciousness has deigned to visit:
in tyrannies, this sophisticated leviathan, this mental gila monster, this calm
ape—at battles and levities, at church and liturgies, or invoking a particular
sentiment: at steel chastisements, at warn dishonor, wearing those capital
letters: this firm sinner, those interior strategies, if but to live with
reflection): that one poetess, those other poetesses, while earnest about
lunacies: such maniac energy, such manic conversation, such mandolin sorrow: as
lost to Love, as refused by Love, to chase so often a rising Love: this tug for
minutes, this field of ferrets, our letters in ocean seas: those sealed
bottles, or helium balloons, to retrieve a letter from an earlier lie: at
terrors, so horrid and crying, at lunch two steps to hospitals: those rooms,
that hallway, or this irritating nuance: to sense a glow, to sense circles,
while standing in stillness: with all glory, this violinist attraction, this
dear pianist: (where Love agonizes, so stressed with magic, realizing, It’s but a moment in chimes—this dance
with liquor, this chaffing misery, those winds speaking in illusions: our
partial sights, to receive so lately, while feeling quite pathetic: to become
so wise, while missing humans, as inflected by an interior whisper: to ask such
questions, to adore such odors, while Love was adorned in Vodka): hereto, this
slight confession, those stolen waters, as time wades alongside terrors: such
reckless passion, sealed with treasures, alive but denounced!
…atypical
attraction, spirits tugging silence, a fraction intertwined—our crocheted
brains, our rotating arcs, falling short and greeting Jesus: our fragile sentiments,
our serenaded sensations, at time so intense in your presence: this life with
shackles, this adoration with clauses, our preachers speaking about
relationships: such itchy cries, such imaginary views, while we chase to feel
satiated: those letters, those marvelous papers, our palm prints massaging
Yahweh: as souls stranded, looking for passion, so pulled out of self—at
magazines and brochures, with so little to decipher, with so much to conjure:
to want for treason, to settle for thoughts, while eating our sky-stars: if but
to say by life, if but to wilderness dandruff, at something too crucial: this
flighty feeling, this embedded energy, to wonder if ours would last: such
tender reasons, such classes clashing, while souls elevated recently: our chocolate
skies, our vanilla earthquakes, at something devoid of racism: this terrific
feeling, this troubled union, as neither realizes the other’s plights: at pure
temperature, those British eyes, those African lips: where adoration wanes,
while connectedness grows, to have for passion devoid of initial cues: such
a-romantic love, such sliced genetics, while irregularities generate certain
energies: our pure proximity, those years to abandonment, our fantasies
rehearsed and rehashed: our communicative thoughts, our lives embedded in
normalcy, our days loving and adoring something seated afore television: those
little legs, those other eyes, that protruding forehead: as settling for
thoughts, wavering through valleys, pausing now and again: this terrific device,
those terrific energies, as reaching for sky-cliffs: those bold insights, this
chasing horizon, our clouds but smoke with fires…!
