…such
critical engines, so explored by thunder, at experience denouncing currents:
our younger lightning, our fueled disbeliefs, or radical upon anti-religion:
faces in dreams, related to casual encounters, while important enough to
analyze: those gavels, as slamming his future, or interlocked winking at
arteries: moreover, our bowels, our grins, our lemonade gin: at terrors
slithering, at old women giggling, but here’s a fact, men die needing
exhaustion: those miles, those rules, at authoritarian women: those missed
calls, those unanswered phones, or tolerating a mistake: if but to know—exactly
those thoughts, where behavior speaks in horrors: our underrated images, while
so close to reevaluate, while Love adores a fantasy: our brain-works, our
ceiling fans, if but to agree with something causing agony: those defensive
seconds, or jumping conclusions, while a thought was sentenced to gentility:
our Death Row opinions, as forced to tiptoe, with something years to annihilate
a seeker: our webs compared, our apples floating, if but to pluck a considerate
moment: as forced to isolate, if but for sanity, listening to something
provocative: those refrigerators, this ice-cold freezer, while knowing time
comes to mercies: our blue river, our impressionable fevers, where one yearns
for something absolute: this cutting culture, those deep breaths, while winds
spin unacknowledged….
I’m releasing self, refused to
dream, a bit off-centered: this horrific reality, this abused mother, this lost
daughter: attempting clarity, slipping into screams, at mercy, cadence, and
hope: or slaughtered for justice, this unlikely tale, for heart is clear: such
moving music, a King of Sorrow, or a
silent saxophone: our days needing familiarity, where souls are evolving, thus,
everyday, or two, something arises: those admirations, leading into travels,
while burdened to persevere: such secure delusion, such frantic illusion, while
souls pull for wicked: to denounce a compliment, to refuse humanity, while
feeling quite good: or taxes inverted, as paid to play, where pretend feels
hilarious: our guts ruined, our thoughts temporary, where society seems blurry:
a new master, as changing weekly, to adore a feeling meaning so little.
I rewrite life, said as soldiers,
fleeing into battles—realized as dying, or realized as attracted, or deceased
pushing soil: at midlife or confused, a bit sensitive and removed, founded in
caves—this tentative existence, this existential channel, so forbidden but
leading carnivals: our daily aches, fueled and concerned, while others feel
personal dispositions: our raffles laughing, our performance a subtle joke,
where two are vying for particular assets: our friends passing, our zones with
havoc, as an avalanche approaches its domain: so attentive, to something else,
so alert to changes: our years invested, our territories whistling, while
confronted by deeper relaxation: this old zip, as forbidden to feel, where life
becomes this game: as promised to giggle, but survival is contempt, where
moments analyze our interior parades: going bigger, growing lively, where
mention suggests a lack of consideration: this moving machine, those silent
re-carpets, while it begins to mean so little: this voice gunning, this removal
permanent, where energies seem frittered to nonsense: if but we would, to
relive as should, while it felt heaven to exist!
…we throw pain, needing empathies,
or emphatic a vocal exchange: this ribbon existence, this deep concern, while
afforded one Cross: feeling indebted, losing roses, as time slips through
palms: so thrown into war, so casual a mistake, so at mercy needing gentility:
a subtle nudge, a killing thought, to remember it felt good to have a common
brain: our chandeliers, our shattered egos, while making it difficult to
sustain a connection: this interior ransom, this fueled discontent, such music
too alive for justice: this fatal promise, this fatal calamity, to realize love
has never shouted so loudly: this last leap, this remodeled future, at home with
something living: those deep margins, this deeper dungeon, where Love grunted….
