…fantastical
reality, blended with manic reality, becomes critical fantasy island: this ruby
red berry, those captive rhinestones, or crystal chandeliers: at thoughts for
months, wrestling something fantastical, while reality assists in pointing out
facts: (this land of creatures, this death that path, at something caged but
peeking: this acrylic rapture, this writer’s tug, while omitting something
crucial: our first glance, to strum perfection, as if life dealt us blackjack:
this ball of frustration, walking in a daze, or fumbling into acute reflection:
this silent breeze, this endless sipping, while needing to share with Ms.
Imagination: this fair skinned winner, this heavy monster, while diligent
enough to keep impetuous acts at bay: our core stranger-hood, this perception
across a crowded empire, at kings thrumming through literature: this fine
threaded line, this knitted inconsistency, while reality is out to lunch: this
visitor of sorts, this crafty manipulator, this person playing Nintendo with
self: our fantastical cartoons, to imagine Ms. Imagination, while reading into
particular frequencies: this man with issues, this problematic magnet, or more,
this vacant, contemplative distance: to meet alike persons, to distract input, to
capture this wyvern attraction: as falling into place, this reason for
infidelity, where some are so groomed: to have existence, to throttle a career,
to give performances everyday: our aunts and cousins, those sociologists, our
friends, family, and government): at months watching, a bit absent to
ingestion, while acting without full forethought: this slant in souls, this
genetic caiman, while seldom full recognition: this cave so deep, as filled
with furniture, our petroglyphs impressing upon cerebrals: at brains and pride,
this hellish countenance, while observing obviously: to nod at seconds, to look
down at notebooks, but anything to distract this intrusive gaze….
…such
cosmic schematics, this wealth of courage, while such to such is frightened:
such harsh reality, to exhibit this tendency, where one is operating as a manic
soul: our media condemnation, this contemning disposition, despite, years
trained as one a bit different: at courses running, at women running, at self
this mirror and running: tenor escapes me, intonation crackles, our voiceprints
lingering in those months: this tale of passion, where one is embedded, unaware
of said person as a total disaster: unaware of perfection, or this heavy
weight, where one is forced to present the best of oneself: this fight to keep
Love, this war towards fidelity, while Love has a life fraught by attractions:
this rule to stand afar, while tugged by something fantastical, where fantasy
blends with reality: those creeping features, this person as a mentor, this
slight to replace something working: as a feudal being, as a crazed person, as
one haunted by theologies: our children needing security, our souls aching for
poetry, if but to live an ounce of prose: such tender cries, such island
perfection, while forced to admit, I’ve
betrayed you….
I’ve
come across beauty—those features impressed upon minds, while a bit awkward
with chimes: this ringing bell, this languishing phone, this orchestra of
typewriters: those playwrights, this crazed cinema, this interior visitor:
staring at holograms, or mixed letters, where time is nothing but dressings:
our salad with contemplation, our angst with frustration, our instruments with
caffeine: those fantastic realities, perched by manic realities, where fantasy
seems attainable: as moving with cadence, where one is disgusted, while another
pursues a turquoise sky: those blatant hints, as registering immediately, while
one is left to wrestle interior webbings: this chase with rules, this planet
with grounds, those books with scents: our eyelashes as stenographers, our
intellects as astronauts, our experience as signposts.
