…such
realization, to merge and exit, at seconds recommitting: this adventure, and
such fire, while wheezing: our cushion brains, needing eternity, reamed and
devastated: if all were good, it would seem impossible, if but to pray: at many
alleys, crossing many bridges, needing something overwhelming: an addict’s
curse, or a logician’s muse, thrust into something anti-intelligence: our
harvest time, our summer cherries, our fall loquats: so turned and dying, so
excited about hobbies, while purple slips into dementia: our crying hearts,
dazed by newness, afflicted by quickness: those marvelous souls, so intense
with passion, so gentle, so abrasively delicate: but fire is raging, while
sites are evident, at black and beige attire: this gothic storm, such gothic
art, where we hold to familiar localities: those demographics, this subtle
wheezing, while cursed for ruined noticing indirection…our gut flame, pictured
at escapes, where wives meditate daily.
I
long to love, so afraid to complete it, while taking our surveys: those
introductions, those algorithms, while semi at fire: those dreamy sentences,
those dreamy melodies, at dreamy cadence: to feel incomplete, while complete
more, where we grip our eighty percent: to leisurely arts, communicating
poetry, looking for denying eye-contact: this small vessel, this large
insanity, while needing something recommitted: this daily juicer, this blended
miracle, while Love adores freshness: our oily noses, our sweaty lips, our
misty, dusty foreheads: at deepness couth, or reversed at seconds, while
recommitted to our dynasty: our swan-lakes, our temperate attitudes, or so
involved we move with silence: this chess-piece, this internal hologram, or
music so softly muffled by little people: this tale in souls, this war in
minds, while appreciation must assist deliberateness: this merry affection, this
tinge of malaise, while jaws rattle sipping wines.
…it
gets colder, those stormy summers, laughing while playing guitars: this milky
life, this caged freedom, this recommitment to security: our lives sensing
imbalance, or knowing with certainty, while too enthralled to quit: our mental
movies, our main attraction, to have another human knitting in our brains: this
free entrance, or this hard-won course, while adored ones repent for another
person’s infractions: our terrible souls, our buttery language, while a man
needs to conquer: this island of visions, this island so fantast, those islands
so enlightened: to adore our guts, to re-portrait our souls, while too much
intrusion becomes repulsive: that thin layer, to ask and dash, while Love
pictures an insecurity: our days to white lies, our minds to fire exhaustion,
or better, this thin layer distracted by several flaws: indeed, this quixotic
curse, to adore both dirt and cleanliness, where something evaluates while
something warns: this plight in newness, as two train relentlessly, where
something foreign might ruin over two decades of trainings…this mixture waxing,
this growth forming, our souls debating values….
I’m
graveling lightly, quasi-elated, watching and pondering images: as women
appear, or souls speak, while too vague to complete an instance: such red
lights, while persons are profound, at too much invested to sing another rose: this life of love, this existence
with passion, or two and a half kids: to appreciate our lot, or lost to sordid
wonder, while actuality speaks to those sensing eyes: as men sailing, or
female pirates, our souls, our songs: pausing for matches, or pausing through
heat, absent of thumps, but enthralled by waves: our ghostly characters, our
plums with ice, or dreams caving into something deliberate: at moving hearts,
to imagine something sickly, while too old to sustain a smile: this force in
minds, this cagey hello, where enthrallment might be otherwise: indeed, needing
a poet’s wand, or needing a woman’s death, or needing more than life.
