…it
appears trite, this inner helium, this request for love: those graves, those
flowers, those tears to soil: this tree waving, those leaves laughing, this sky
watching: our best behavior, in closet homes, so nasty it irritates: our long
terrors, our horror temples, this Zionist mentality: our Kingdom Jesus, our
Dearest Yahweh, our Immutable Holy Ghost: this mini machine, this horrid
sprinkle, this haunting membrance: as addicted to liquor, or addicted to
passion, or needing adrenaline glands: so low and complex, so dead but alive,
so enlove but single: this mutual circus, this interior carnival, this
reckless, alcoholic clown: those dreams scattered, this ceiling shattered, our
guts seizing excitement: if but to giggle, at peace with dying, where graves
are inching closer: this abrupt maniac, this evil fool, this kind, loving,
compassionate warzone: to sneeze and reminisce, to adore and lose, to live and
rebuild wisdom: this cabinet nearby, this sudden epiphany, this satori island: at tender thoughts, about
something so gentle, to wonder about those Decembers: as concerning three, that
pitiful, sad, pensive, distorted image: to loosen mentalities, to have one last
episode, while casualties released palms several a day: indeed, those old
friends, this old serenity, while cursed for honesties: our bloated flesh, our
boils with vinegar, our intestines but three faces: this faceless chase, this
interior high, at souls speaking in psychiatries: our manic monsters, this calm
fool, while enlove but a hello: to pass through crowds, lonely for affection,
eating something feeding liver-works: at one particular, this manic vessel,
while tugged so afar it’s hard to respect: those dreams scattered, this glass
rebuilt, our glue is sticky and leaking….
I never heard it; I felt it intuit life; those old liaisons: as somewhat
spacey, to revisit friends, while attempting something never dominated: this
door for deaths, to ask of this man, to do something killing his guts: this
drunken soul, this picky wife, as needing one adept to playing pretend: those
perfect mornings, those perfect nights, such neat and perfect sex: our ritual
showers, our delicate bodies, where one wished to grip, ravish, bite and
resist: as but a curse, or but a blessing, so dear to something squeaking: this
shrill response, those shrill ligaments, our shrill, successful, and
susceptible appetites: while over yonder, one is a maniac, raw liquor, and
cigarette breath: our thoughts bleeding, at those so close a mountain, so far-gone
it becomes sadness: but life is good, and humans are morbid, while Love never
suspected being suspected. …we lose
perspective, inhaling oxygen, so angry, so disgusted, so intrigued: this
confliction, that nasty person, but salivating for that nasty person: mouth
gook, slime, and demanding respect: our tendencies, our Greek mythologies, our
Roman sex-shops: if but to relive, this legacy of realities, while such
debauchery intensifies: our bathed membranes, our raging ‘transmitters, while
enveloped in halos: this Theresa imagery, this Catherine seizure, or so gone we
long for Lilith: those casual maniacs, this fool-nighted eloping, as aroused so
entrenched speaking helium: if but to perish, within delicate arms, or a woman
so strong she frightens: such to listen, to pause wings, to ask for something
incredible: this island of personalities, those risqué, temperamental, psychological
souls: to sense addiction, to translate addiction, or better, to transfer
addictions: so relocated, such similar behavior, while a facetious grin spins a
dynasty: our reluctant approval, our resonating hearts, to get so close but
never a breath: at dramatic dreams, damned for honesties, or demonized to
daughters: this perfect lieutenant, this perfect mother, this perfect wife: but
damn, so damn there, so damn crazy: indeed, to jest, while searching for
humans, where societal constructs haven’t ruined humanity: those casual,
deep-hearted, instrumental, and agonizing discourses: those trenchant
gesticulations, or rabid seconds, to fall, laugh, and return to normality:
those moments at practice, this irritating lint, or so spent for feeling
riveting personalities….
