…arrogance,
easily deceived, such webs internal those clocks—as men dying, looking into
exotics, erotic a dream and chastised: those human pebbles, this scissor blade,
somewhere lost in Los Angeles: sensing faces, erased and cultured, this long
fight for civilization: our behaved hearts, our psychological treatises, as
built or re-functioned, aloft a dynamic catastrophe: those bars, as cemented to
souls, let us pause for a sip: this hungry passion, to have reflection, to
argue, catch attitudes, and love violently: our volume with rain, our pain with
breakthroughs, searching to win literature: this mystic wind, those mystic
women, this mystic chase: that winter’s mirage, such silky frustration,
debating funding: this school there, this person here, while afforded a reason
to settle: such domestication, laughing a good time, while summer is Vodka:
those memoirs, speaking insistence, but caving upon a feeling: this proof read,
this premise test, those conclusions seeming flawed: if but this, as but that,
and then this: if but to fly, our deductive lives, at best a group by
consensus: this, otherwise, world, this inductive catastrophe, while needing
certitude: this reason to believe, this kaleidoscope Father, this telescopic
Mother, if but to attend those classes….
I fiddle thoughts, imagined as deranged, or loved for honesty: those
souls living, those souls forbidden, while real men desire their legacy: to
have my own, to dance with glee, while wives mock ostentation: those vulnerable
seconds, this race with emotion, this battle against feelings: while driven at
valleys, this sinister abashment, a few those secrets it must seem good: to
relive life, to perish by culture, analyzing this totem pole: our children
watching, our fathers watching, our souls watching: to sense sensitivities, to
ask those probing questions, at restrictions floored to needing more: if but to
give, while hiding resentments, while needing certain realities: such
motivation, where tales are true, while one aches to please a friend: as
studious creatures, compelled but confused, while violins are strumming
insecurities: this film at eleven, this workshop mentality, while something
tugs promising nothing: this man to respects, that deep, intellectual fire,
while bodily needing majesty: to hold for substance, to dance with
sophistication, while Love just downed a beer….
I
test a little more, a deceptive with self, looking into a dear friend: our
bowels rumbling, our earth respective, while needing something internally: our
black kites, our ethics, our envies—if but to float, decided with passion, a
bit lost and somewhat recovered: this triumph with winning, this theoretical
elephant, or days to in-home strangers: our white fires, our corporate
decisions, or this confined, water cooler, time thieving and analytical office
core: our workouts, our dear loses, at something so intense: this binder
mentality, this fatal fraction, or competitive states regarding the good: as hungry with child, over a loaf
of bread, to deny stealing based upon Deontology: this duty in souls, this
immunity in travels, while stealing joys: those fine threads, those finer
knitting(s), losing for rivaling over this exchange of goods: if but to swim,
laughing over pains, at those weeks it felt unreal: at dear decisions, to give
where it aches, alive and dying in short riddles: at frequent requests, peering
into passion, at fair feathered practicality: (a steak with rice, a bottle of
wine, at classical rhythms: this man so indebted, this rain fleeing, this death
consuming: if but to panic, looking at something so dear, while freezing in motion):
this loss so near, this feeling restructured, while Love appeals to something
protective.
…in
wilderness, Love, at magic farms seeping, so stressed, peering into familiar
soundness: if but for show, a familiar stranger, this curse shall pass: at evening
fantasies, relying upon asteroids, moved by belief that one can satiate mental
over-shoots….
