Axioms & Habits

…softer climates, alienation, so public, so secluded: at saffron pastures, staring at landscapes, adrift a turquoise sky: to imagine winds, racing in form, pausing by permission: our captured souls, our conscious spirits, listening, remaining, and flying into insouciance: such deliberate passion, so filled with uneasiness, found, right there, drifting into fantasy: such condition, permeating existence, so removed, so insync, wondering about arrival: to come to places, unbeknownst to reason, while longing for spaces: our rare sensations, so present, as forgetting skies, while longing for exactness….     I came by chance; albeit, future promises; albeit, a dear happenstance: so clingy, so needy, dependent upon those figures: as close to one, this formula maze, so wrung, so insistent, so changed: such tender ideals, impeached by existence, growing awareness….     …it fascinates us, required to maintain, sleepless, but falling asleep, or tired, but wide awake: this eventual understanding, arriving in our maze, needing occupation: so inclined by darkness, this fight for illumination, as knowing goodness compelled, thereby: our deep deliverance, if deciphered keenly, while carrying particular hankerings: our souls nudging, our infatuation with aesthetics, our fever for particular passions: needing to see, needing to listen, so charged by various activities: as required to move, if but to rest, our minds involved in building: as itchy creatures, given to movement, at cadence with softer realities: choosing our cinemas, while curious about channels, to mingle, or even augment our narrow path: so dear to Light, believing with nuance, structuring an edifice worthy of our indebtedness: appealing to reason, informed by intelligence, while something is debated endlessly….

…something effects us, even mentally, while we return for detriment: this phantom affair, this slanted perception, at such imperceptibility: we require shifts, while needing shifts, where such shifts impair us: to become intimate, with this inner self, while feeling odd with this inner self: our required alternation, those endless sounds, while distressed by such cadence: our dear return, our island fever, while a bit disappointed: at turns in self, at waves in reception, while needing this other existence: our blighted gardens, our catapulted minds, while altered enough to believe as normal: this world of probability, this office of standards, while habits become patterns of behavior: so waxed by thoughts, such interior deliberation, at various requirements….

I drift through webs, so abashed by behaviors, re-sensed as a sentient soul: I repent this passage, so threshed by reflection, while gaining modicum perception: those fruits seemed normal; this reality seemed at essence, while our world asked about accountability: so silent those skies, unless thunderous response, while scientifically we debate material: our morning selves, our cigar selves, at something aloof but needing its participation: such casual misleading, while distressed about conscious omission, where engagement has lost its magnetism: so completed, so alienated, so confused concerning identity: while living in vagueness, or adorned by uncertainty, leaping into this eternal chase: our souls activated, our years similar, our stars watching….

We close with questions, while we debate meaning, where in reality we are too far evolved: this required sentience, if but to exhale, while present enough to sense movement: this particular essence, those particular concerns, followed by particular, albeit, silent dreams: at something leaking, such reticent helium, while aging over decades: our minds whispering, our deeds as witnesses, while we chase particular titles: those demanding attributes, as defining existence, where reality cemented comes through groups: as larger creatures, separated by reason, so turned by insistence: this mental path, this inner building, those agricultural beginnings.

Mystic Antiquity

…resonant ecstasy or Hildegard fire, achy palms, bleeding fever, so captured, so deceased (mania)…!

I’ve died at hills, incarnate flame, at something impermanent: such bodhi eyes, such magnificence, ingrained, unknit, so balanced and unsteady: those leaves whispering, this glorious Wall, so at war, so at romance, so positive, so negative: those innate screams, this early morning darkness, at turbid waters—to live in capsules, to draw so nearness, while unable to elaborate: at mental Castles, at pride in Sienna, so aloof, this cell life, so Catherine: our mystic instincts, where existence is dying, while Bishop confessed to temptation: our green vines, our burgundy plums, so confused, so enlightened, so publically alone—if but a fair charge, at Death Row, one might elude to participation: our magic whittles, our psalmic anxiety, so lost for structured alive in Hebrews: Arabic tongues, Egyptian witnesses, or campfires in Galilee: at Thecla giggling, at caves sentenced, at gavels and planks and pure insanity, whispering: so soft this attraction, so mystic this insistence, while theology begs for questions: those redherrings, those ad hoc instructions, so deep, so found, if but losing all senses: those stars, this interracial convoy, this ship, this interracial luggage: to imagine mother, pointing with animosity, or father congratulating such graduation: at mystic dice, so enlove with walls, where one is prone towards survival: this illustration, this feudal pain, while vying for something committed to ocean sickness: hitherto, such slight omission, this tyranny in Jesus—our red passion, our intrepid insistence, so beige, so cyan, so black, so white: this wretched dichotomy, this frightened son, at silence, at stillness, enflamed with fury: our confidants, our needs, to find a glimpse in an unlikely mistake: such hermetic resurrection, such penchant convergence, so bathed in warm waters: to dip through ecstasy, to flush a human, as it came it disappeared: to remain in awe, such awesome majesty, while seeing spirit those phantom eyes: such mauve celebration, such orchid worship, or becoming silently tribal: this ancient secret, the further we travel, we begin to unlock something primitive: this mind pushed passed limits, this manic memory, as alive, sipping, so deep in mystic rites: at transformation, at transubstantiation, at trance and alarms while cleaving to invisibility: this Mother’s haven, this Father’s war-camp, at lilacs and mythical orchards.       

…such rusty antiques, such cerise and seeds, such garnet problems: aloof to profanity, indebted to granny, at mistakes believing is appears as it is: those kites with thoughts, this musing museum, at Love sick about worries: so concerned, such hives, at something said to liberate: our custom approach, our interior costumes, our wigs, our women, our fathers: this wishing dahlia, our midnight begonias, or something so saffron, so pale, so emphatic concerning Christ: this mental Eucharist, this long succession, our wafers with rituals: our welkin displeasure, our praise come hells, our guitars spelling excitements: our David in Zion, our stronghold in Our Ghost, while something crooked diminishes a series of beliefs: this Deist at hands off, this theist at dreams come, or so far gone an agnostic has just prayed: so mystic with pain, so bane with experience, as treating others with proper regard: so astute, such a fiddling flute, such coy, lute, and joy: thereat, this travesty looming, this moon walking, this anguish with gates….

…such devastation, this decimated insanity, this denigrated faith: this amusement for some, this caliber frustration for others, or something uninvestigated for many: this anti-science, this anti-ethic, while Nietzsche proclaimed the only Christian died upon his Cross: our devout cries, our earnest resistance, to find hands participating is sin: such musical times, such chants with wines, at grapes, pomegranates, and peaches: an eyeful of existence, a soul filled with persistence, so mosaic, so captured, so indebted: this gusset of complication, this interior lamp, at something too evolved to seem normal: this comfortable feeling, where life is cringing, as one labeled a bit abnormal: our deep exposure, our roots in France, our dreams in Louisiana, so outspoken towards Africa: this minor, mythic, and mystic sketch: those serious visitations, while realizing something new has occurred: mystic saxophones, or mystic symphonies, at alone-time speaking while lit aglow: our sophic delights, our swami brains, while walking sudden upon a missile: at jazzy performance, at Blues and rhythm, or at a sacred scarf: this spiritual spar, this indigenous scar, so Maori, so tribal, so evolved lightening into thunder….    

Upset an Ecstatic

...so mystic, such afflatus, such musicality—as built for impassivity, or craving violently, such vehemence, such nonchalance: such contradiction, an oxymoronic paradox, a parachute three miles to earth: so enlove, so afar a riddle, so deeply intuitive: as cursed but breathing, as healed but bleeding, so happy but sad: our casual fixation, our remote silence, to nudge, knock, and sin: those ripples, those rivulets, this revving, internal, born again sensation: to possess something effective, to relive youths, as dead but alive so sick and starched: if but mystic palaces, or mystic castles, this interior agony: so close to Father, so at war with Mother, but silence and violence and parlance: those secretive lights, those prickly hairs, so soft, so supple, and God has sinned: those blank gazes, as pure consciousness, so addictive, so strong about ass to differences: those kisses, this lark, at songbirds singing indifferences: such babble, so flight, so at cadence, so afar a dream: to imagine perfection, to locate perfection, to sense a subtle gateway: this lake, Love, those geese, Love, so impermanent, so casual, such concrete, mayhem and destiny, Love: our mystic arcs, our florid machines, so interior, so external, such private public affairs: those few indebted, this breath coveted, at blots and eczema and never so delighted: our nerve-endings, our rashes bleeding, our brains wreaking magic: as cursed survivors, such a beige moon, so devastated and senseless: those critics, those movies, as played perfectly: those ancient cinemas, those ancient paradigms, while women strive for perfection: this title looming, this interior library, at dusty, dusky tomes: to sense something magical, to realize humans, while interested enough to plan: that slight pause, those fatality walls, while a man dies for certain wombs: our talkative selves, our freelance arts, while introverted becoming so inventive: as born extroverts, or lascivious nuns, to beat a drum, laugh, and fall apart in repentance: so nice, so pliable, so delicate, such a variable: at war, Love, so indebted, Love, at pure agonies, Love….     …twinkles, droplets, fashion, bags, and ceiling trash: such silky, obedient, full dawn deception: as needing belief, as so strategized, where we sudden upon this need: so insync, so salient, or such an undercurrent: so filled, so energized, at such weblike cadence: our dreadlocks, our weblocks, at this terrible impasse: to feel disgusted, but ever this need, while cringing his touch: or at paranoid thoughts, to confess such truisms, while one wars our interior trains: at monopolies inter-souls, or paradise havoc-spirits, while headed to anxieties: this homecoming reward, those first few lines, while so naked, so impure, or taught to abhor our bodies: this writing sensation, this fatality castle, this mystic water-ski: so aloof, so enchanted, so lethal: at burgundy blue ribbons, such a soft scent, so rented interior: our bolts, while unscrewed, at something bringing orgasmic waterfalls: this black haven, this black catastrophe, while so enlove hating our partners: that rush, this fight, as torn for pulled yearning for breath: to remove life, to feel aggression, to realize this perfectly normal psychology: after years of indifference, to become this creature, while psychs are exclaiming something abnormal….    

…sandbox epiphanies, or salient currents, as so electric, so forced, such to breaths: this candent woman, this infiltration, while warmth a particular silence: as snuck into fire, or serious a delusion, to maintain as something impersonal: ignoring this anthem, painting this mural, looking deeply into her genre: at mesto passions, a private duet, while afraid to underperform: indeed, so sickening, such remorse, as a theological flight-zone: to posses inclination, to lament Jesus, while serenading by harps: this mystic yogi, this mystic pain, or at something encouraged to re-rent intelligence: this blue azure, those falling exospheres, at something beginning as esoteric: to encourage spirits, to flee tangibility, while agonizing over possibility: so vulnerable, so exterior, as so mean men walk north: our church organs, our church feelings, our psychologists priests: if but to give, as but to perish, so forward, so delighted, so young, or too sophisticated to give a damn….

I grieve us, enlove with us, so terribly afraid of us: those blanket nouns, this furious dilemma, our wild kosher river: our leopard spots, our unchanged changeable irony, or this swan-work, ecstatic: at lapwings, or country cities, about crazy over snow monkeys: such delicate, vicious, maniacal creatures—or so intricate, so intelligent, such maneuvers to survive: those volcanic waters, our volcanic highs, at passion, but reviewed for longevity: this icy forest, melting to a smile, plus, infatuated with promise: as knowing our worth, this feudal discipline, to gaze into another person: this frequent habit, while attempting this enterprise, at something special after a long day: this nice creature, our midnight conversation, or sensing pure urgency.     …to live this existence, to gather articles, while so steep in ritual: this hell valley, those tender mistakes, or a woman too attractive to straightly cry: this frenzy with fidelity, after reading nature, so transfixed: those times for love, those times for psychiatry, this laugh, this pain, at blue black sunshine: to rival life, to compete with strangers, as becoming everything he isn’t: his obvious laughs, while feeling insecure, where a person wears a person as one wears flesh: so deep in our brains, so steep at concerns, where a partner becomes a parent: so indebted, so at skies, or feeling something foreign: poetic justice, poetic license, at prosaic orange and red leaves: so cautious, so involved, so bewitched—or lacking interests, while flooded by interests, at mystic maniacs and chestnuts: to die this flavor, or live this newness, as needing provocation: those maple buds, this apple tulip, at a bed flavored in friendship: our Smith's reality, our blackness writhing, so in this world of passerby(s): if but to adore one, as fixed through eternity, while Love aches our greetings…!

Privileges

…if but more love, so deceased, beating harps, at large from mirrors: such friendship, such reckless sin, such diabolic concerns: at red ribbons, a butterfly passion, so sealed, so delivered, so cursed: to censor thighs, to cry deliverance, to need something protruding: our midnight escapes, our inner city habits, at clubs, or seasons, blotted and failing lovely: those dying eyes, those cringing remarks, at something too honest for destiny: our failed fires, our needy selves, so close, too afar, a scar upon bars: so opalescent, so scandalous, so chiseled: at resets, steady a coma, or anxious a blackout, if but that incredible overthrow: our bowels demented, our morals slanted, our rivers gunning: as beautiful losers, or ugly winners, so devoted, so acrimonious: at pale blue skies, at ocean green survival, so afar and blazed into a nightmare: your ephemeral aura, your tree wings, at something colorful—our achy blights, so steep it burns, so alive it’s frightening: our wild galaxies, our sky tombs, so earthly, so seductive, so octopus: those arms, so aesthetic, at right havens, born but sick into winter: thitherto, our estate shaky, our skies at arches, so terror, so koala: if but to dream, if but a thousand daughters, if but each those pearly white eyes: as men dying, needing one Love, as something to confess at our tribunal: so cut alive, so sliced and revving, or courted for destroyed: those years bleeding, those months to hospitals, those slithering creatures: hereto, our gray ambition, our carnival lives, so defrosted, so warm, crying, dying, living in broken ceilings….

…quokka ambition, rat remnants, blue black terrors: as cursed and bathed, as livid and calm, as deceased and breathing: this life laughing, this moon crashing, this father at instincts: so aloof, so crooked, so spacial: at guts this woman, so porcupine, so friendly: our brave deaths, if but to adore—this craven appetite, so against one trillion: those backwards letters, those forward heavens, our skulls speaking Italian: echidna ferrets, so honest, so concerned: to feel as brains, to live as tweets, or so gone Love has never broken flesh: if but to adore, or but to live, as turquoise inquisitors: those times, Love, at penchants, pensive and remorse, Love: therewith, this brilliant curse, to feel mystic distance, to know a particular remorse: as sold and wrapped, or destined and flipped, our alpaca fleece eating into long-winds: our topless seas, our interior sperm whales, so gifted, so at large, so psycho-connected: as born and craving, or alive at wonders, or celebrated for denying something giving life….

I celebrate feelings, this enormous elevation, this orgasmic death: to meet those eyes, to confess this emotion, to plead for three seconds of feelings: electric glimpses, squeaky evidence, or recitals three beams early: such motion-predators, looking to relive three seconds, while Love adores her fashion: our fang-teeth, digging into skies, while nothing separates long-infinity: deep sea blues, those deep needs, as alert and seasoned with losing: our tattooed names, this brain war, this cut for threshed and never another—to redeem this curse, to know for Wednesdays, to know brains scream: so invisible, so blessed, so torn but laughing: those hatchet fish, those grungy figs, at cherries, begging a woman’s nature: to imagine work, to imagine friends, to imagine every connection permeating her future: to contend, with hell to pay, while thrust’d for born, at this funny aisle: our rented privileges!

Sky Eyes

…dance with us, those opalescent screams, those iridescent eyes—as lost souls, so stranded, peering at romance—if but to ache, cringing beauty, or dying softly: so idyllic, so uncultured, at major irritabilities: cursing over coffee, lying over destiny, as one maniacal, as one sickened, as one holds life together: those two cords, yanking for stressing, while reality is unraveling: so itchy, such laughter, while conscientious of such giggles: those waving seas, this inner shoreline, petting our ocean beasts: at perfect elation, such sorrow those dreams, where it felt good to rinse the magic: if but to hurt self, if but to feel ravished, if but to clutch desperation: our nightmares, as becoming our beauty, fleeing justice, while marrying injustice: this Wild Wild Country, those interior operas, while tussling, nay, battling, those myriad phantoms: such deaths, such romance, such passion: those frequent limbs, those frequent arms, while so studied at losing….

…those kite fights, this interim cathedral, so gifted, so challenged, wrestling with features: again, those eyes, looking so opposite, where actions perish mid-moon: falling for arising, as never so close, while jealousies tempt sanity: to hate his soul, to perish his wings, a duck, such oil, such Dawn: those blubbering contempt(s), this contemning nature, so deceased, so upbraided, so alive: sensing forgiveness, rereading scripture, so enlove that second with forgiveness: our banished brains, our unlikely affairs, our names and courage, so threshed and distorted: at flying fires, at broken beds, while nothing is ever enough: those wretched occurrences, those wretched examples, while granny spoke of ways to betray self: such small wisdom, looking gigantic, for un-reasoned, and so selfish, and adored by mechanics: this freedom fight, this freedom dynasty, where hurting others becomes ideal: if only she loves, if only he adores, than life so gentle: to look or glance, to sense muddy lands, to confirm muddy deaths….

I sense traffic, so involved with reason, so anti-maniac: this frequent word, this hands-off delight, while dearly a maniac: to puff a cigar, to miss a cigar, at wonders about people: a soul dying, while another flourishes, where everyone is watching: those deep secrets, as never our return, but fluency leads to gossip: people wondering, women vying, while intimacy becomes a carnival: my pet bruises, his pet bruises, at sheer incredibility: those geese whispering, this soul at highs, where none of this reflects us: this man to scars, this dance to bars, afar a scream, feeling trespassed: this life, those relived memories, while peering at beauty: our realest feelings, so charged to locate them, so studied to outlive settling: at easier delights, a sandwich, a pickle, some juice: those cryptic airs, our cryptic brains, so enlove where realities seem permanent: this impermanent friction, or someone’s other passion, while singing for sung and never such beauty.

I need encapsulation, notwithstanding, fidelity: I need stars and dams and rivers, notwithstanding, adventure: I need grassy patches, and yellow weeds, as fused and dreaming, so lost in attraction: this wealth of indecision, while honoring principalities, where outsiders sense a bit of losing: I need stimulation, church refinements, or particular knowhow: I need adulthood, coupled with personhood, plus, anti-devastation—or mystic existence, charged by rituals, living deliberately: at deeper solitude, notwithstanding, solicitudes, so deep in friendship: such magic buried, such reality awakening, while a person must confess this pushing fever: as anti-depth, as anti-sensation, while sex is winning: those private islands, looking at those private persons, while realizing one has given so little: those musical charms, this shallow planet, this introverted galaxy: a few laughs, a few compliments, plus, a year into feeling ridiculous: where many are singing, debating politics, laughing at follies: feelings graduating, to realize those dreams encouraged, or to realize an unmatched insanity: at courtships, debating habits, living but feeling isolated: this deceased mind, this fretful reality, while needing so little to provoke a thought: to choose mind over matter, where one is sensational, while it took so much: our destinies proven, our souls needing realism, while God is pointing to evidence.

I’ll fly again, somewhere at similar mistakes, where Love adores this flighty brain: our metaphysics, our steep insistence, our pulling and yanking and dreaming: our teepee showers, our deep frustrations, at something probing our cores: writing, gauging, looking, so defensive, so casual: I’ll fly again, sensing a deep truism, while adapting to this realism: such selfish schematics, a fulltime surgeon, where breaks become interrogated: those inferior words, as never a secret, for we must share: this privileged insanity, this need to brag, where two could share something distressed: our knowhow fading, our lives mushy, our potatoes cold: such ingrown spirits, such radical deaths, plus, a series of tattoos: indeed, as left with this, Is sex of more value than redeeming friendship?: this terrible concern, this fretful insistence, where true thoughts go deeper: those survival notions, this secure isolation, or this ability to fly freely: at eyes screaming passion, at deserts screaming needs, or so furious as to find a lover: this land of possibilities, where something is dying, while using another human puts us in a certain category!

Swan Night

…so public, so secluded, such musicality: at dreams, so young, so tender, so deliberate: at alienation, so intimately aware, so driven, so cursed: those private thoughts, this rebuked valley, those orchard fruits: magnolia pies, mahogany envy, at pure indecision: we see vaguely, we deny our beauty, always so vigil those grassy islands: our green perfection, our novitiate status, so early as greenhorns: a pack of marigolds, those dreamy eyes, a napkin, a tear, at someone special: this diamond sin, our diamond passion, so thrown, so concerned, so revved: those social ranks, while realizing a deficit, at treasures pleading new beginnings: (to love so delicately, where passion is opaque, while needing closeness): this push-pull insanity, those cavalier responses, while searching for pure enlightenment: at coarser visions, begging forgiveness, a world over there: those straight lines, our crooked margins, so far aligned edging into rightness: this dream, my Love, this field of cotton, Love, while ignoring Blackness, Love: as never an utterance, as never a thought, attempting to please others: this rhythm tug, those jazzy atmospheres, at something denying your humanity: growing in emotion, feudal at times, or such a Taurus: those afflatus eyes, those running legs, those curly, insane locks: so many tickets, so thrown at remorse, but life is not your fault….     …a bit smug, a bit thorough, as feeling this hate we give: so money high, such luxurious gems, while losing a piece of insights: but yours is flowing, this college responsibility, at science feeling compelled: to rethink, to feel something, while feeling indecision: that loyal enterprise, as demanded of children, while parents secure secrets: those things we endure, those lies we live, if but for this optimal idealism: so initiated, at so many concerns, while raised as one nonchalant: to lose so much, as ideals perish, where character is required: but yours is peaceful, and yours is easygoing, while others are asunder through profanity: or times are dark, and life is moving, while old ideals have vanished: to see a person, to rebuke that person, or so inverted we never behave as that person….

I sense you dancing, at tender sentiments, where thoughts interfere: watching semblance, ignoring mechanisms, as something perfect is quite impossible: but better those are, while ignoring home-fronts, or so invested we need a certain outcome: this battle cave, this raving city, while youngsters live so fast:

(I live a secret; it distresses my soul, while agonizing over this future reality: as pure giants, at captured concerns, disputing those slingshots).

…days are running, old habits are hard to summons, and something endearing is dying: this young pioneer, this swan-ship, at deeper politics: this need for education, this dread as living, while never another glance, for mother disapproves: it seems crazy, as never this much power, to infest, inculcate, and demand like similarities: so removed, so disliked, while carrying genetic disturbance: as some would laugh, for it seems great, while many refused to confess to HIV: this nondisclosure, this treacherous felony, where others are quite careful: (years are gunning, theater is moving, our boxes are unraveling): so much tape, so much upheaval, while never prepared to face life: those easygoing alleys, this need for publicity, at celebrity behaviors: such catastrophes, or born moving slowly, at something proven gentle: those softer whispers, this land of raindrops, to sudden upon a rainbow kiss….

…DELVE DEEPER INTO SILENCE, LIVE ACCORDING TO STRUCTURE, WHILE REMOVED ENOUGH TO TACKLE CHAOS: this bail life, those figures you adore, afraid, but frantic to love: such catnip reality, revved with little kittens, working and pruning and selecting a garden: DEMAND EQUALITY, BECOME A WOMAN, LIVE IN ACCORDANCE TO RICHER INTGRITIES: sorry to yell, but emphases are required, while one is so at large: this running fugitive, paying his last ticket, while conversing with sky-windows: our pouring recitals, our raging thoughts, if but to harmonize with something killing us gravely: our first Love, our last dynamite, while jaded, forcing others to pay tribute: at fleeting encounters, something gentle becomes a commodity, and something harsh is something we cleave to: so rigid, such a vandal, where something becomes indelicate….

…we ache in tulips, we die in dice, while love means dealing with another person: where something outweighs pain, and something enjoys company, and something feels satiated: this anti-tabloid, this interior brochure, or those mental magazines: this photo album, this collection of records, or books screaming to define life: while mere presence kills, or mere sex is devastating, for hours pass sipping insanity: but have a vision, possess a hobby, moreover, complete yearly projects: have character, possess philosophy, in-addition, read news clippings: have something to say, as opposed to work-thoughts, and exercise weekly: for life is ribbons, if but to keep a person, we must adapt to circumstances: to dazzle and demand, to desire and demonstrate, or better, to deliver and detonate: those far concerns, this finishing school, those higher ranks, where women are equals, even a bit dangerous….      

Tender Trespass

…so casual a scream, so dark our participation, as humans, as flying, while adored by melancholy: this fit, Man, this lieutenant, Man, at miracles disputed as facts, Man: those dreams, at curious flavors, or eyes reaching speaking Italian: those sites, Power, this power, Power, as women running Utilitarianism, Power: at arks and homes, at disputes and concerns, so fevered and living: such auras, so sophisticated, so carnival, so animated: those gesticulations, those pouty blue greens, as built for sexual subjugations: our bowels gunning, our inner earth, at planets and falling into cushions: those arms, Love, those differences, Love, our ability to bounce and shuffle and die, Love: (but a seed, so planted, growing, panting, laughing and damn near in-tuned: to sense deception, to rive at guts, to confess weakness: this fragile creature, this innocent death, while needing something to nudge insecurities: at blue black diamonds, at something subtle, peering through allure): such temperament, to realize indifferences, to need something beyond our station: cologne and liquor, a heavy scent, so intrinsic, so sick, so against rehab: indeed, granny, to adore your strength, at magnets tugged and defenseless: those passions redeemed, this slither sliced, at popcorn and mad sorrow: some to live, some to perish, as blessed according to whimsy: this investigation, at internal hearts, our furnace chiseling nobodies: thitherto, this mountainous, even palatial, even remorseful snail:  so low to gravel, slime a bit this curse, where Love reached, and pulled, and taught a snail to stand: to realize potentiality, to actualize through osmoses, while Love has never lied: this gut war, this silent laughter, or three-grand for a book: at governmental shame, at Judges giggling, this way to hide embarrassment: while feeling awkward, or dying softly, at mercy, concern and liquor: indeed, granny, this whip to silence, those loud vocals: at grandpa deafly, at color a bit sullen, at Africa keeping close: so Europe at points, therefore, and thereof, such volta(s) laughing at indifferences: those great beaut(s), this interior debut, or upside-down, heart-shaped derriere—our eyes thrusting, our revving ignited, if but a series of odors: a shrine for dying, this caliber of person, while lost for sudden traveling our valleys.

High Love,

…so precious, this candy land, this interior disbelief: to live this way, a palm of secrets, a devastated sensibility: something clinical, something debauched, at pudding and deep thoughts: so incumbent, so terrorized, and such pressure to behave: this Woman’s Work, with much to adhere to, so gifted, at moments sincere, at seconds feeling quite vulnerable: fleeing traffic, seated with a sibling, laughing, giggling, at something languishing: those slurry lines, this slurry beginning, while forced a hand pleading for Love: adored as passionate, writing and comparing, while years work and re-work our sensibilities: those beautiful feelings, this beautiful deception, as so sweet, while longing for perfection: thereinto, this swimming legacy, this shore silence, at penguins feeding and playing interior guitars: such blue magic, such green islands, where mother appears radiant: such curly mane, or pressed to death, if but to become white: indeed, a bit itchy, a bit redeemed, where women are dying to appear like you: this natural inclination, this remote bleeding, at cures and cultures feeling a bit quadroon: such identity wrestling, this inner legend, at literature attempting at peace: so feathered Love, such wingspan, Love, plus, this soul adores you—while falling and rising, this episodic chaos, where one is isolated by necessity: such as fairness, such as Blues, or music so sweet and melodic: those thetic essays, this melic prose, while wild a meter dancing: to sense forever, to love forever, while needing a level of embarrassment: those perfect people, those perfect lives, so indebted to slaves: whereupon, this sullen debate, this instrumental queen, where reality might surprise us…!

Screwdrivers

…so trusted, so betrayed, looking so closely: realizing destiny, removed from sensation, a bit psychopathic: our church-house molestations, our in-home adulteries, so sick, so lascivious, and trying to relax as normal: this psych library, these threatened ghettoes, so low, so debauched, fretting signatures: those court documents, this last leg, our interior tyrannies: at flying deaths, or remarkable sorrow, staring at typical recalls: our bloodstream, our blood-work, so early, so gone, so disappointed: to believe in others, to depend upon rationality, while losing, so desperately, or participating in something turned public: our guts whining, our inner earth groaning, our minds, our cores, something moaning: our daughters exposed, feeling irregular, peering into normal semblance: at adored silence, at hives and rashes, where watchers inquire: such responsibility, so cold and dangerous, to force our thoughts: something unpleasant, something crafted, something killing Jesus: our brains flipping, our tongues so flippant, our lives appearing like clown-works: our painted faces, our graphed dreams, so quiet about dying: plus, this reality, plus, this irrationality, while one knits something ridiculous.

I shift pain, so degraded, so forgotten: those screams muffled, this river sweating, our realism found offensive: our parents dying, but finding joy, to grip a son’s palm: that incredible person, those incredible dreams, our incredible anguish: so deep in mire, so thrilled by mud, while so hateful towards self: this suicidal planet, those suicidal demands, while drifting upon dogwood: but place a diamond, so filthy with distraction, or so sick looking for deliverance: this strange creature, so deep in jurisdiction, so adapted to dying: such dismal addresses, such treacherous existential, while Love agonized and felt repulsed: this blue war, those green eyes, while true knowledge fathoms sheer disgusts: our peer advisors, our sleepy teachers, or psychs so gifted, so churned, at such reversals: our needs bleeding, our knuckles dragging, while appearing too innocent to realize: this dead feeling, this living miracle, while trucks stared and came close—those guns, this feeling, this deceased interior: to allow permission, to walk forward, to die a smidgen: those tacit moons, this tacit sun, at agonies laughing: for life is sick, and humans sicker, at another person’s proxies.

…so graphed a tear, thinking in cyan browns, and deep a feeling this daughter: so afraid, so lost, at home with indecision: to seek come years, to find come fears, where souls blaze cigars: early mornings, those few names, prior to saying, God: an unknown star, a small empire, this alienated, ghetto born, semi-strategist: such itchy flesh, such doubtful souls, as outlasting, out-dancing, so crucial, a brain filled with ideals: at plurals here, at singular identities, or entertaining, by day-watch, by night-glens, this psychotic feature: so lost in it, so gone with it, while Jesus heard: indeed, to laughs, or giggling inappropriately, something raunchy so ghetto, something ethnic, and too funny for tears: this madman, this archer, those books: fleeing and dying, returning and dying, at bars and dying: so sick with existence, so tamed with existence, while so bored with destiny: those shifts, this easy death, sipping, cruising, and lost upon Pacific Coast: reminiscing, sipping more, feeling pain, and dying life: this grit in souls, traveling through woods, at city life and feeling remorse: this deep bruise, those laughing women, to realize life is a bit cruel….

I needed to die, if but to embrace wisdom, if but to realize Solomon: I needed to Love, so unrequited, so absolutely ridiculous, so challenged by sanity: these new senses, this deep consciousness, while so low this totem pole: abused and lovely, redeemed and begging, at tyrannies so agonized: these contradictions, those pearly paradoxes, so sifted by satire: so warm and devastated, so at Love and corrupt, or so still with motion: our mental umbrellas, our mental shards, our back-alley cocaine drops: too early for winning, too late for losing, abused and feeling normal: this steep challenge, where norms are challenged, while believing such norms for designated souls: our appropriate signs, our universal predicaments, where psychs work from social locations: those anguished hooks, this anguished signpost, while such intoxicated warriors: this plural demand, those singular head-storms, so itchy, so dry, at Love looking into dungeons: our realists therapies, our deep rooted hunches, while interrogating such insights…our days, Love, so restored and laughing, Love, at trips to Italy, Love: those few crushes, to have sheer demands, while losing for human: this black terror, this white terror, this Asiatic insistence: such folly forgiven, answers reread, and tales restructured: at pure ingredients, or musical sky-cadence, where something falls: those brilliant deaths, so inverted, while so provocative…or later in years, to happen upon something inside-out, if but to appear before a manic dream: so close to company, so business with strangers, while running and hiding and looking serious: at one so sick, while she flashed her screams, a bit angry I couldn’t respond: our havoc thoughts, our layaway emotion, our screams in hock: our dice maneuvering, our land demented, our norms feeding insecurities: at teal memories, or gray ambitions, so enthralled by Richard Green: our small ponds, our bigger lakes, at faces in deliverance: those prison apostles, those women disciples, if but to abuse essence destroying selves!

Softer Whispers

…softer cadence, mythical, mystic thoughts, plus, mental correlation: this odd reality, as relying upon interior, if but this shaky understanding: lack of knowledge, or mechanisms, thereof, while adamant and deliberate: such bald eagles, such soaring delights, while releasing reality: this bold deliverance, this painful insight, while searching for agreements: a delicate damsel, a motive author, a musical church: so flighty, so seductive, or so insecure: our images clashing, at magnificent glaciers, our deer eyes feeding into compliments: found by situations; lovely for a chosen few; so captured by echelons: but miracles blossom, a phoenix shall rise, our axes, our rotation, our catapults: as small creatures, reliving existence, where something nudges our intuitions: such romantic, incandescent, and remarkable memories: as taught to survive, as taught to aspire, despite, a number of inadequacies: those reasons to exist, so hampered by existence, while so lost at love needing liberty: our aches rattling, our souls unspoken, our dreams right at points: while others pursue, this life of subsistence, those avenues, those rosy minded jewels: to adore unsaid Love, to shift with winds, to participate with longing arms: others, study closely, live vaguely, or become ecstatic in something permitting modicum control: thereinto, this sodden music, this whet cry, those dry rivers: to pierce sanity, breaking through, and become left centered: our trestles watching, our ink dripping, our beige garments ruined: so close to abstracts, so aloof to concretes, at pavements re-knitting gravel: those ceiling stencils, our frosty flakes, so aloof, so intense, so indebted….     …to adore with reason, becomes a living entity, where, otherwise, images become tangible: that is to say, we catch a glimpse, seasoned by insecurities, longing for something perceived as completion: this miracle moving, this cadence trumpet, those Cajun drums: at communicative vices, while leaping into troubles, where waters are devastated: or becoming such water, pushing downstream, peeling, maneuvering, sudden upon a breakthrough: our deeper islands, this silent perfection, while reality proves something wild: those fairer eyes, this complete package, at something incredibly magnificent: those tugs yanking, those indexes speaking, at blueprints feeling passion: such spacial concerns, seated at computers, waving through various sites: to happen upon thoughts, to desire eternity, to seek language speaking to fires: our eardrum happiness, our classifications, while reasoning to outmaneuver our designations: so high those thoughts, so delicious our tastes, while higher ranks are wondering about inclusion: as exclusive members, weary of inclusive members, where adequate signage becomes precedence: at collegial struggles, a slew of degrees, to arrive feeling a bit distressed: working for a Bentley, to soon purchase this ceiling, while disappointed concerning velocity: those candent, but silent screams, at irregular correlations, spaced for tempered, laughing at something ironic: our lambent aches, our opaque prophecies, while studying our times: those interior tables, this chart by reality, at something elusive….     …it flows like winter, it’s fleeting like summer, it’s beauty like autumn: those surer fantasies, to fulfill a palm full, to exist as one destined by chance: our mystical landscapes, our mythical shrubberies, somewhere steep those labyrinthine—to offer a sacred self, to live in accordance, to aim for higher-privilege—this difficult slot, this reputation, while out-sung and singing something temperamental: those passionate waves, this passionate castle, so attracted to something ambivalent: our younger arts, this atypical horizon, our eyes upon our aurous—at deeper values, restructured but tempted, while fighting for political inclusion: our few minds, our tempered realities, while left with memories: that gentle place, those softer whispers, roaming this relaxed valley: therewith, a raving empire, a raven skycraft, a riving ambition….          

Sullen Magazine

…so softly dying, infused by winds, proven a dying gladiator: our reach slipping, at sore disjunction, and omitting laughter: our core curse, our silky flesh, our wounded pride: as souls languishing, or repeating habits, where promise becomes something aloof: our dangerous spirits, at churning gears, from swing to slides to grass: our sandcastles, our coated beliefs, while some are pointing North: this man to phones, those interior lagoons, while so low conversing with algae: as trying by silence, but something is itching, and Lord Knows!: this tried soul, our warrior battles, ashamed to admit a lack of answers: listening to cogent, but simplistic, solutions: wondering about humans, to imagine our functionality, realizing mercy comes through habits: our deaf lands, this deaf political, our sold America: at Africa stately, but torn by Africa, at tyranny this pigmentation: so thrown by literature, so awake at signposts, so aloof to reality: but thrown, therein, attempting this punishment, where, otherwise, it appears too chaotic: those sullen, apathetic, even cruel thoughts: our contours distinguished, our anger lashing out, our bodies feeling alienated: while life is on timer, where winds are shifting, so perfectly abused: hereinto, this puddle of passion, this abstract creature, this variance in reality: sold to irrationality, sold to distress happiness, while a moment seemed so intoxicating: our daily giggles, followed by rain, seated upon rugs—those acidic whistles, this acidic island, gripping for tugging at air: our filthy knees, our relatable prayers, so infused, so drained, shooting reminder notes….     …so softly mourning, at deaths with existence, to realize our decaying reality: those few at guts, those ruined light-bulbs, or some so intense it becomes intimidating: this old warrior, so captured by peace, so misused and so worried: (I ponder at times, this lake of insecurities, this human dilemma, this spiritual predicament: at volunteer silence, or displeased with church, or painting this high-rise experiential dimension: so cured, so cursed, so haunted): our rabid sensations, our burning realities, seated at some park feeding selfish pigeons: those curious squirrels, this trapped existence, so simple, so chaotic, so Nature: this field of pirates, this sea of beasts, this land or misinterpretations: such war to love, such abuse to die, while Love aches, listening to silent winds….     …it happened to me, this variance in humanity, this casual, mentally detrimental, even abdominal horror: so sick with life, so angry at life, while chasing multiple women: that wrong decision, choosing Europe over Africa, while intangible, mental forces, wreaked havoc upon existence: this losing voice, this winning terror, at living love—to live for insistence, this morning’s ritual, so sluggish, so hopeful, so torn to exist: this sad address, this Cajun soul, so alarmed by actualities: at cornered angles, at torn sensations, eye to brain alive something Egyptian: sensing ruins fevered, or tyranny unexplained, while damaged for despised by humans: this lone source, this miracle acceptance, while home is filled with secrets: so watery flame, as rescued for seconds, so sick about private communion: to seek Christ, livid a nightmare, this filthy, uncivilized, even condemnable spirit….     …so many weeks, counting and laughing, while alienated from that experience: this problem with time, this calendar giggling, or sentenced never a sight—those bars, this alley, this tickling tightrope: to search internally, to hear a softer whisper, to meditate eight hours a day: to recapture soul, to council something intransigent, or to tackle something reprobate: this recalcitrant mentality, this based existence, this core needing God’s Reality: this sure language, this sure delusion, while rereading biblic texts: so often at scripture, so often at purgatory, so cursed forcing God’s Hand: (I must confess: I give a rat’s life, whether God is female, male, or asexual: this foolish battle, where experience is sensation, where a fire hits sudden upon a second: this revving course, those neurotransmitters, this sight for doubts: but knowing pain, and knowing hope, why deprive a person of their strength)…!            

Easter & Children

…so innocent, so filthy, so intimate with rules: as silent, vocal creatures, hunting for surprises, structured by instruction: void of history, or thrust, thereinto, nibbling a chocolate bunny: such wild laughter, such curious eyes, while plotting by planning for more candy: we feel silence, needing a full future, so pushed, so crazed, longing into mystery: those terrible chills, seeming inconsequential, while minds probe darker corners: keeping them vocal, keeping them inquisitive, while introducing literature: such sunny dispositions, or quite quiet, where family probe and knit and unstitch solitude: those mischief hands, those mischievous eyes, looking a certain spirit: so wild at times, or so rude into affronts, while too precious for coldness: stealing noses, hiding toes, or fiddling with a snail: our shorter days, rereading homework, where many parents are quite equipped: indeed, such root, this threefold cord, our steady dreams….

This church day, our reverends, at subtle nudging: our parents watchful, this entity giving life, our minds so involved: those taught lessons, this holy empire, our displaced melancholy: as souls at fortune, to have this delicate, nosy, temperamental creature—those seconds to wonder, realizing responsibility, and brave enough to face those challenges: so behaved for barbeque; so ruthless for juice; so obedient to participate in a project: those instilled values, those Ten Commandments, where nights are filled with tender debates: those exercised brains, those adult answers, our mesmerized attention: so charged by life, reliving our years, while thrown into mathematics: this small scientist, this religious person, this evaluator: hereinto, this critical element, while a bit intrusive, our children are up for arguments: a parent’s daymare, needing to negotiate, while feeling urged to force those positionsJ: but innocence is endearing, this small, informative teacher, this mythical giant: floating into memories, forming moments, at popcorn and tea: indeed, such a bellicose, cooperative, and reread soul—such determination, such fire.

Our memoirs are flooded, our notebooks and pictures, our daily evaluations: correlating our experiences, reading into our child-life, while making observations connect: feeling our souls, awakening something silent, re-working our hunches: such keen insights, to realize sleepiness, or to sense a hungry, grumpy instigator: such happiness, such joy, such richness this life: as needing family, if but to exist, where other things do not compare: our values for existence, our daily cholesterol, at strict concerns about sodium: our bland meals, our special salad dressings: our minimized fast-foods: hereinto, that day to splurge, that little one dreaming, while learning constraints: to discipline through example, to feed this young apostle, while needlessly approaching difficult topics: those crystal limbs, those neighborhood parks, while adoring a flock of geese: at something deeper, at something moving, while we speak to ideals.

…wherever we roam, we journey with family, despite our differences: our children adore family, this singing in praise—they dance and laugh and joke and placate: they fawn over animals, they jump in ponds, at times, they place mud unto music: those house pancakes, that imaginary breakfast, or something earlier while eating anything: this mysterious, predicable person—longing for attention, spacial in designs, moving to something internal: this talkative clock, this whispering phone, this small ghost: our nightly wrestle, our morning baths, our hours at discussions: our deep resemblance, this mini us, our seconds and minutes leading into agreements: as larger than light, or light itself, and pleading for more information….       

Addressing Development/Addressing Religiosity

…but a child, mesmerized by promise, skating, leaping, and listening closely: this tale of excitement, our palms to heaven, despite, our political circumstance: this soul to life, so vaguely confident, at multiple portals: those long, dark, scurvy alleys: those trenchant, delicate, even acrimonious delights: existence doesn’t pause, our realities sing The Gospel, while simplicity seems to banish life: hereinto, this crevice yearning, to ravish portals, to chance upon clouds, or even place self in harm’s way: as young creatures, or studying fevers, this need to exist….    

…it becomes passion, our orientations, while sleeping in sky-dungeons: such desire to succeed, where existence is watching, so cultured, so civilized, so appealing: as incredible souls, rushing into society, needing a perfect outcome: where life challenges, and lights dim, while souls rev to participate: our parents watching, so snug in our futures, if fortunate, they motivate, dissipating our doubts: such stress, such backgrounds, and so many fervent insecurities: where passion drives, our radiant cultures, our morning espressos….  

…as young participants, life is vigil, with this need to resist: ours seems indifferent, or forcing full allegiance, while interior existence appears distressed: our souls at clemencies, our windows wide open, our societal mirrors seeming a bit harsh: as interlocked realities, passing strangers, while undercurrents have linked humanity: those undulations, our common struggles, or better, our human experiences: as lives our guts, frantic about goals, while dissecting surmountable uneasiness: but reality is shifting, our souls are hungry, while sudden upon a glitch….

…this interior antenna, those mental cabinets, or something alive in genetics: this living force, this active participant, or this stigmatic overseer: our dreams challenged, our survival intentional, our days wrestling mind-monsters: as reading our fabrics, as nibbling fiber, where familiarity becomes a challenge: but souls are flying, listening to softer existence, a wife, a husband, careers, and over a palm of kids: as looking closely, those fairer hurtles, running a risk of becoming despondent: such rich perception, such detailed analyses, and so warm to probabilities: our futuristic slingshots, our adult mentalities, where existence becomes humility….

…we nigh convergence, needing freedoms, while freedom is at large: this miracle fugitive, this momentary visitor, or something felt more than seen: our deep reverence, our mental confidant, as hearts sing something incredible: this designating reality, this choice in religion, while advocates side with orientation: our passionate feelings, those stressed readings, while listening to religiosity in our medias: such fervent citizens, such authentic souls, while many are forwarding the best they have: this reality offer, those colorful options, where deep analyses makes a beneficial decision: our minds tussling, our facts limited, where humans enter into another dimension: settled in experience, or settled in observation, while something compelling has taken form: our concepts whispering, our belief system intuitive, where love becomes life….

…we touch variance, we struggle with probability, our contours becoming similar: at something crucial, this life decision, where opting out is a given lose: we need spirit, we desire ultimate wisdom, we work, dedicated to religious mantras: we chance our souls, leaping in stillness, fevered by something unbelievable: this privy, this accessibility, this island, or this place of sane thoughts: as children blossom, into something universal, we become the spirit we worship….

Pregnant Helium

…sweeter whispers, lightning agony, so seduced, so pleasant, so gone: a panda as pet, a grizzly as bodyguard, at Whitney so sick and psychotic: this interior psych, those vines maneuvering, at animal instincts: therewith, those deep grounds, this grave winking, while demons breathe something inevitable: those tarsier eyes, this reversed insanity, while arguing concerning habits: reading and rereading, so silent and taciturn, so gauged and afraid: so Italy, so European, so African: at loosened ends, a vineyard of hogs, or something affecting interior emotion: ecological heart-wars, at wine stained lips, so skinny, so thick, while a man needs more: (seating Jesus, a tiger knitting skies, a guinea pig laughing, or wolverines re-captured and chewing gristle: those playing pains, this evening’s guillotine, musing a paranoid Blake: thither-into, this racing machine, those blatant bruises, while so at Love it was fair to lie: so many scorpions, so many spiders, at softer whispers): those nunnery behaviors, those chaplain epistles, so apophatic, so apathetic, so deeply enlove—as re-wounded, at terrible cleats, our bones inverted and ghosts claim fevers: so lavish, Sanity, such a ruse, Sanity, as seen for seeing those rashes, Sanity: that deep grin, this itchy flesh, to scrape while bleeding: those marrow-wives, our prime-movers, those evil, benevolent hunters: our nails with grime, our faces so filled, while Love adores a maniac….     I rattle lively, this treacherous dragon, this repenting lieutenant: at cliffs leaping, at pillows drooling, at comforters nudging: so alive with soul, so at tears with granny, so lost peering through father’s gaze: rhinoceros gunning, leopards whistling, an arrow to stars: thereinto, this wintry feeling, so warm its angst, while reviewed as something passing: those lies, akin to roadrunner, at answering wolves: so acute, this frantic whisper, this interior gila-monster: if but to roam life, if but one attraction, while warriors contend to maintain planets.     …so electric, so gifted, so Hildegard: so mystic, so secular, such tailored feelings: to act with fervor, to resist with fever, as so tugged, so pulled, so far away from gravity: something floating, something angry, something mirror-to-self: welts and blood, wicked and saintly, such a wicked saint: our gavels bleeding, this woodpile flaming, this hang-cliff abuse—if but to die, as looking for crooked, while mother had a good second….

…an inner movie, a star actress, incense and cadence: such nectar grapes, a change coming, such Purple Rain:

at zillion dollar laughs, so appealing, so curious, so deceased—as bent this way, or curved that way, while souls lack passion: a mirrored ancestor, a fleeting poem, while forgotten ten stanzas inward: hyena genetics, bipolar chemistry, at something too fragile, too sullen: but holding infinity, and dying sweeter, while a world is at softer whispers: this intractable genus, this familiar phenotype, while minds communicate interior life: those orca brains, so underfoot, our souls running into sky-havoc: as cursed and good, or blessed and fair, in churns and guts winking at travesty: so many bull ants, such possum behavior, while secluded gnawing at feathers: Australian flesh, or Egyptian flesh, while something Palestinian has died for such cries: such organ bass, such violin brass, such porcupine head-storms:

at Love giggling, at Love dying, at Love living as if living just invented self: our ruined bowels, this thing in adults, this feature maneuvering: (those dead-zones, this livid, dynamic, romantic Virginia—at guts to gristle, at marrow to detriment, while thoughts have harvested forgetfulness: something seeping, to awaken a surprise, at some hospital speaking to strangersJ):   

Sandcastle Water

…at petals wishing, such light clouds, besprinkled with grays: our tiger skies, our informed essence, bewildered by communion: those liquid palms, those heavy bales, such allegiance by slow breaths: our crazed souls, abrupt an empire, tussling with Tennessee: our European babies, their Africa friends, without notice of complexion: so terse, tense, and disobedient: so rough, under-wealth, and compliant: our alien poverty, so soft a whisper, spooning rice to Buddha: to climb alleys, to rebuke fences, at tender explosions: theology fire, burned bridges, or infamous, downright heinous profanity: our secular insecurities, our confident countenances, while despised for abhorred longing for justice: at plates of ambivalence, at stages with mimicry, enlove with something disputing our worth: this feeling of rage, this tetras shower, at daughters so adverse to gutters: that solemn gift, those acrimonious tapes, while desperate to discount genetics: at thin seeds, split into fortunes, while mother glances filled with bitter skies: our lakes with pudding, our anthem with disbelief, but not a soul confesses inadequacies….

…immortal droplets, or raindrop mortality, at something seemingly insufficient: this Stanton Enterprise, our daily messages, while many forfeit such legacy: those clarinets, this obedient refusal, while needing firebrand: as young entrepreneurs, or older cement layers, our terrors spoiled by rationality: such symbolism, those bras speaking resistance, those skirts screaming femininity: but ours is reversed, or introverted, or so extroverted silence is wailing: such softer whispers, such tyranny and remorse, at iridescent abstracts….

I see twinkles, in a fallen horizon, so opposed to reality: this delicate daughter, those delicate seeds, or such rough understanding: this wealth seeking wealth, Our Honor needing mediums, while woven in-between crevices: so threshed, so unlikely, so troubled: thereinto, our richer webs, this daughter’s perception, this father’s sin: at kinetic chaos, or a thump by tables, at caffeine, gutters, and miracles: those rubescent signposts, those tender relaxers, at lament so deep with details—this reaming angst, those loud and ruckus and taciturn milieus—seated with eczema, our ruffled nerves, debating concepts verses actualities: so thin with patience, so enlove with quickness, while three months in we meet each other: but yours is fate, and yours drifts inwardly, while yours is indwelling: those million gestures, that arithmetic insanity, at murals and paintings and canvases.

…so insync, or so radical and absent, our lights, our brains, but reality isn’t home: our silken worms, eating at roots, albeit, our forerunner looks fantastic: this person speaking, our bodies aching, while subtle energy permeates our eyes: so filled with passion, so alive with intention, to thrust, pull, bite and dominate: this lie flourishing, our act so engraved, while something is seeping into majesty: such changing selves, if but this influence, to adore, love and obey: those hives, sullen, those hives, sad, but such hives have located destiny to ensure—at brains laughing, at tender embarrassments, while knelling closer to a sandcastle: those boxes redeemed, this trillionaire person, at something outstanding: our old reflection, creeping with confliction, but resilience perfects what it withstands: thitherto, those cold feelings, while Luther writhes, our dungeons becoming human: that interior voice, our brains’ realities, while lost for damaged but returning with glee: our steel toe perceptions, our iron concepts, so inflexible and reduced to fatality actions: this man, Love, this shimmer, Love, our resistance coming into inversion, Love….  

Concluding Gentility

I’ve explained wretched; I’ve touched gentility; I’ve harnessed losing—so crooked, a straight line, while needing such contradiction: so many geese, a lone goose, a diamond egg: this living life, this tortured cadence, our shards bleeding—melted glass, excruciating sulfur, so cold, aflame an interior sanctum: thick coats, coyote semblance, broken addictions—such freedom, such dead men, while rising through syndication: if but for precious, if but for magic, such a heroine body: our guts, Adored Fever, our lives laughing, at miracles a slight infection—but life was good, so gentle a nightmare, as wondering our likeness: nugget rain, nugget congestion, at nugget existence: so certain, or so unsure, while ignoring becomes impossible: this off self, this fretted center, at burdens to release a thousand hertz: such howling, our spirit-brains, our sky-lieutenants: so placeless, at Love so sorely, while jealous of such fruition: this fair confession, at wonders a pretzel existence, to enter by eyes, to grip by pleasures, to awaken such emptiness: our darker rays, our sunrise robes, our dreary, forced tongues: if but night-rising, looking distorted, but feeling terrific.     …so photogenic, so psychological, while dreary, at dirty mystics, at filthy magic: to imbue a future, our neglected sunshine, while feeling distrusted: at dusty black grays, an interior merchant, our medieval mystics, such history scribbled but ruined: at tears excitedly, livid in Paradise, sentenced to fathom Poets: perchance to live, to stream interior voices, to hear a woman’s cadence: a strange Feminist, a deep proponent, while erased from chapters: those eyes, Fever, those wretched concerns, Fever, at a space where fretting is normal, Fever: so young, so adult, where mother needs her little girl: our grandparents, at once a life, at corn and rice: our steakhouses, our lobster tails, so sick, and so elated, and Black Folks are crazy: if be for goodness, or too explosive, while guided by consensus: if but to brains, so entrenched, such fancy ideals….     …by heart-forte, such valley clutter, so deeply uncured, or too gone, grinding feathers, and reciting rights: those mean sentences, our cured occults, our firewood fevers: so precious at pains, so precious but tortured, so precious and fabulous: forgetting life, as assuming presumptions, such lustrous ruts: our grains threaded, our minds knitted, our DNA crocheted: those goblins, those ghosts, those hard-pressed realities: to fuel a rut, to haunt a hut, our seashore deer: a monk’s meditation, our rickety bones, filling a vale with musky raccoons: so addicted, needing that lost feeling, if but received into justice: this desire for opalescence, or uncontrollable passion, while balanced enough to exist: forgetting transgressions, those first few strikes, where Love may harbor a thousand transgressions: so tripped asunder, such flippant webs, while we simmer at gateways: such masked fragrance, our revving brackets, while most habits are trapped in parentheses….

…cursing self through language, and eating words, and rereading Rumi—as a small vessel, fully mixture’d, a terrorized mulatto: this Palestinian fever, this Jerusalem Passion, at fixtures un-nailed: Walking By, or feeling dungeon-like, at a curious connection: sizzling with numen, rebounding into this Paraclete, so fused an effusion, roaming, so lost, but found in an endless Desert—such a child, repudiating denials, and sipping Black Water: those years to disrespect, this humble apology, while so sick, so demented, so gone: such wrongdoing, but God Heard, and God terrorized: this interior vetting, this sense for reality, this cage so gentle: those furious yokes, that other cheek, while men have a hard time dying: so close by tears, so felt and thankful, so entrenched and rolling….

…this curious appetite, this Man’s World, this Woman’s Dynasty—at interior whistles, at ghostly smiles, knelling and gripping grass: this freedom thing, this freedom delight, this hostage freedom: so deep in mud, assisted with baths, while baptizing daily: at Sacraments musing, at scriptures perusing, while so needled by Psalms: to know goodness, is to pursue goodness, else fire and rage and terror strike our interior binoculars: to see this music, those right-doing symbols, so captured, so frightened, so found: to ponder Jesus, pleading their forgiveness, faced by mortal death: an outlandish ideal, while most hate and refuse to forgive two-pence—our shaky greetings, our doorsill politics, while most are so close its unbearable: to suffer our children, this Kingdom by God, this wintry, excruciating, heavy ass birdsong: hereinto, our crispy analyses, shuddering or smoldering, while flitting this universe….

Re-roping Violent Winds

I grip carpet, moist and sullen, aborted but arriving—this tender miracle, those tender electrics, at cords and violins, so spacial so under-created: such screeching vocals, such screeching attraction, so many frantic alarms, our brains, Love, our guts, Ensured One, our bibles, our studies—to die at fever, to live so coldly, while repenting for a strange island: those Waste Lands, or those tender, unfavorable, nearly unnoticed daisies: at angry curtains, or talkative chandeliers, while resting upon a loveseat: this aesthetic settee, those laughing ottomans, so fretted, so addicted, where winds simmer into lutes: at harps, Love, at tender deaths, Love, while fettered for chained running into dungeons, Love: our delicate freedoms, while free to behave, where such should seem easy: (to favor Ms. Unnoticed, to leap where roses are thorns, or fiddle for nibbling tumbleweed): this ridiculous laugh, those porcelain highlights, while Love frets a few pounds: to grip harder, to tug with intention, at a stranger womb: this small literary, our intense survival, carving particular imprints: such cameo delights, such waist-level chairs, or beds ruined come summer: that throaty chuckle, such violent language, such luggage and bandage: those weasel memories, those wilder hyenas, plus, this lingering attraction: a man to battles, to war for lands, to offer a piker as a gift: our dingo fights, our wrestling arms, while meaning something uncouth.

I pet a shark; I painted tigers; so intrigued, so existential, while opposing this labyrinth: this maze of haystacks, this world of shrubberies, at purple/turquoise eyes—or falling into jungles, those green fires, such blue horizons, fretting over cyan tears: such pooling knowledge, such captive arcs, while Love is quite temperamental: our bull-dung, our deep deception, while nearly owning each other: so perfectly underrated, such curious undulations, at underground, atypical responses: those panda bears, our channels giggling, our ears awakening to gray silence: such TV static, such noisy beds, while Love attracted an attitude: and tender our metaphysics, or rereading our teleology, at angry points, realizing many beg the question stated: a Tibetan fox, those Asian cries, while preaching antitheses—as crazy souls, pointing to multiple reasons, in which, one should resist—that flowing advancement, those ad hoc arguments, or reducing something valued to a ridiculous absurdity: such fire laughs, such rapture and pain, where we need loyalty.

…we rear a feeling, as re-portraits emotion, so mawkish and re-sentenced: attached to great whites, feuding over improbability, looking at something vicious but seated in tranquility: butter and garlic, bread and honey, so sensual, so relaxed, so intense but casual: this internal machine, this mental hologram, while so senseless to invisible but tangible language: nigh’n closer, nodding our spirits, while undergoing pretzel-like intensifications: our ghostly spots, our leopard Leo’s, our panther Aries’: so gone this planet, an elusive puma, at deeper treasuries….

…we lance a fever, a palm of Lithium, a glass of Cognac: petting antelopes, chasing rabbits, sensing something quite casual concerning sexual magnetism: this sport for souls, this chemistry as allergic, at interior races: our links with iron, our spirits with aluminum, our habits feeling bronzed: to gilt a feeling, to lavish an emotion, to curse at breakfast: tawny brown lenses, elongated necks, while Love has grown tired of animals: this need for passion, those showering kisses, those intense, homeopathic, African gazes: our minds raising questions, our souls becoming older, where feigned behavior seems quite impossible: this treacherous profanity, this losing mentality, while sullen upon a stranger and tingling….  

Remora Inversion

…at long last a casualty, a breathing machine, a treacherous, faithful, remanded human being: so many bars, so many struggles, so intense, so lively, so activated in core-brains: this hemisphere laughing, this psych cringing, while carrying a modicum of concern: that old mystic, that mystic oven, this horrible, dejected, and melancholic word: this African Holocaust, this Jewish Desert, while resilience brought to life something indestructible: our bowels, Love; our chaperons, Adored One; or differences in thought patterns: this edge in detriments, this village of psychologies, where Jung would suggest Humanity First: (at smiles but meditated, at guts but ruined, while flowers appear controversial): this blue black moon, those poetic reasons, while so enlove its desperate a heart-feather: our milk with Hershey’s, our flavor with deaths, or meaning so dependent: at oils with candles, at Frankincense or Frankenstein, lost and running while returning to Ghettoes: this fragrant daisy, those core implications, so sonic, so cartoon, so Barry White—at full sunrises, trekking through Newport, so veiled, so perfect, so under this lamp-table: our havens, Love, our cravings, Adored One, as primate mathematicians: sakata feelings, wasps’ determination, or a penguin’s loyalty: as Emperors, founded in queens, as a woman masters such longevity: her thoughts to survival, her wigs as suggestive, while needing this sight beyond all others: those voice-overs, this wrestling throttle, our caves displayed and depicted in mid-traffic: to die this allotment, to thresh this ceiling, accused according to actions: those blatant pegs, those tectonic opinions, at phobias, attempting to adore such improbable algebraic(s)—a mere soul, or better a gecko, at meerkats laughing or enjoying such frolicking: those serious women, so at a desperate need, where Love was oblivious: such terrible outcomes, such wretched heart-flutes, while Love adores his dejected brains….

     ...so gentle with touch, those iguana hands, those sensual overtures: as arriving at sex, as opposed to gunning for sex, so tender a thought, so at whisper an inclination: something so regular, as now so irregular, where a person feels that something has been missing: tortoise sensation, or tortoise stamina, while hours churn into arguments: our nostrils dripping mucus, our brains feeling rabid, our mouths salivating: but Love is emotion, and Love is logic, and Love carries a confliction: this thing, Love, as seen, Love, so docile, so submissive, so under tutelage, Love: indeed, a rival to bowels, a gun to sky-fire, at terrors feeling exacerbated: our miracle cover letters, our remarkable resumes, while Love is evaluating inventory: such sickness with genius, such a delicate person, so seen, so controlled, so at humility: our thumping hearts, our at-risk sexualities, or chimpanzee eye flexibility: at silver back aggression, or tamed by Love, where Love desires a gorilla: such controversies, rattling through graffiti, and sipping for living addicted to a myth: this flare passion, our earlobes burning, or one knowing every intricacy: to dig his heart, to flutter his soul, to sprinkle his castle: at days, Love, so sick and laughing, so fearful and giggling: so amplified, or deeply at churns, to confess love met with regrets: if but to perish, after so entangled, a nutshell, a nut-hell, at terrors, so indebted to this woman….     …so fly, so amazing, so imperceptible—lurching into minds, devastated and beautiful, with but a few closets: this luggage package, this human failing, our turquoise souls: as men needing, and women cringing, but addicted to long, pale, or sunshine thighs: at granny’s memory, but not such a funeral, where mother would exclaim a detriment: those camerawomen, this mystic Digest, at terror, reborn, while frightened to sleep: this haunting image, that last rib, at courses seduced to get one way: so enslaved, so volcanic, at wonders concerning monogamy: this sworn project, our loins breathing, if but to presume something sacred: this bold eagle, those cats meowing, or dogs floored feeling reversals: a gibbon story, a magic tree, or mystic, shimmering diamonds: to adore without, while up so close, to invest in a thousand years: to catch our mid-gates, this immortal resurrection, while musing upon leaf cutters: this heart so familiar, this unfamiliar summer, or winter losing its focus: to imagine trepidation, to sense Fahrenheit, while engaged in slime-mold: at furious problems, needing Jesus, if but this tale by Works: at heads flipping, or tails shuttering, while Love seems adoring: this small man, this dead island, as surfing to Civilization: those city buildings, this interior edifice, at life with architecture: hereinto, this daily language, pushing insanity, while Love speaks with gentility: so invested, so distant, while chemistry brains are floating and flitting and morphing into concerns: this pet jerboa, this panting deer, at Psalms re-paragraphing: to forgive self, as to forgive others, while hurting so much its remora inversion….

Lighthouse, Sea-house, Soul-house

…such a foolish man, adrift a beige sky, so much dust and debris—at torn wings, or troubled feathers, at cadence and misinterpreted energies: so solemn and edgy, accustomed to silence, accustomed to praise: those inner alleys, those mental valleys, those spirit-meadows: galloping through forests, leaping small fences, racing to escape this haunting mirror: our dusky sunrise, at meditated thoughts, while life appears as nosy: our interior cathedrals, such musicality, so gentle or so Beethoven—this  land of whispers, this bridge to islands, where one is threaded precariously: as uncertain vessels, living uncertain lives, where solace comes from a clear conscience: this terrible chase, tiptoeing lyrics, assigned to myriad symbols: if but to relax, if but to shed demons, if but tender memories: as a child crawls, so indebted and needlessly needy, so eager, so curious, so forgetful: to hold Baby Buddha, to tickle her belly, to select a nutrient morsel: those candid eyes, such cuddly aromas, looking, piercing, and so necessary: our days to outfits, disguising insecurities, realizing an unsure design: such newness, such worship, found and lost and lost and found: this wavy pendulum, those endless reasons, while grandparents are passing over legacies….

…what have we done, so filled with anxieties, so rough around edges, so cursed, so blessed, and absorbing questionable knowledge: our tender reasons, our concerned eye contact, where existence speaks in Arabic: at absurd islands, looking closer, realizing this twilight-zone: our morning alarms, our rehearsed coffee, our boiled eggs: those fawning highlights, this mutual exchange, or this slight and subtle seriousness: our rushed seconds, our million dollar auras, while simmering into our daily habits: our repeated existence, as announced as absurdity, for we seem so distant from our behaviors: we tend towards absence, both internally and politically, while so hard on ourselves: this Calvinistic Society, thrust into our duties, while something misses its objective: our weekly gas, our nightly meals, or our selective apparel—so indebted to existence, while missing existence, fueled and charging existence….

I gain momentum, furious with patience, sensing this internal disconnection: I sing this way, an existential poet, a philosopher, a theologian raising awareness: this vest of plaids, this vague crevice, or this unsteady, but steady analysis: minds wrestling with existence, our cosmological enterprises, throttled by Spirit: as young but old, or old but young, or stricken with certain poverties: at cartoons and teas, at traffic and uncultured, or running while found while sick: our foods rising, our palms gripping, our throats pushing it out: as revived warriors, thrust into Judah, while many question our Old Testament: this need for Newness, this communal Matthew, our epistles speaking something too complicated to interpret: our longer debates, this theological empire, at various, sentimental baptisms: heretofore, this emphasis upon love, this threaded reality concerning conscienceness, where some prove worthy of this unusual, dungeon-like calling: our sights upon Moses, our deeper research, to locate something reflective: this mirror in stillness, this want to share, as abolishing something individualistic: those islands converging, this self rising, while so indebted to this interior machinery: as but a dreamer, as but a mystic, where it was years upon intentionality: those sky-havocs, those interior pieces, or days at collecting shards: this welcome to self, this ambivalent chase, while uncertain about reason.