…searching
about skies, sensing immortality, fed gristle, bone, and meat: a wild
chimpanzee, a wilder lion, or a domesticated tiger: so forced to live, so
destined to fly, at purple moonshine: such elixirs, or alchemic remedies, while
a person effects our moods: so susceptible, so resistant, at mountainous
attraction: fleeing into battles, gunning through forests, or kneeling to
tickle an ape: those dreams, this wavelength, those frequencies: as rebuilt
souls, harboring harbingers, so healed but redeemable: to emit voltage, to glow
entirely, to re-coffin old inclinations: those red eyes, those flowing dresses,
those sacred encounters: to seize existence, to stutter about passion, or
something tugging as poets scream: aroused to fever, polished for purpose, or
nourished for Easter: this charcoal flame, those lambent daycares, at deep
insistence….
I
get confused—laughing while watching, realizing this thin thread: to tug
gently, to remind this life, while disappointed we hold so highly—this
affectation, this easy swimming, this lost soul: pruning this garden, knitting
these shrubberies, sweeping our intestines: this fleet of ghosts, those deep
powers, where it felt good to show contempt: this web in souls, this deep
insistence, while relaxed enough to realize wrongdoing: so perky with glee, so
effected but desolate, while fiddles and flutes echo into persistence: our
marvelous cries, our remarkable reasoning, while it never meant so much: those
few fires, as flew into fierceness, where a simple touch meant destiny: such
banter and gaze, such lies and memories, such as doing something outstanding:
but nothing matters, and life matters, while so entrenched it’s good to repent:
our avenues, our structure, our interior prisms: those captured mornings, this
inner reality, while fretting, whereto—this baggage screaming, this luggage
discarded, our flippancies running ramped: such daylight, seated in deep
wonder, omitted but included: an oxymoron, a wretched paradox, or something
totally nonsensical: as beige dreams, as biting needs, but rarely total
disdain.
Here I am—this spider keg,
this web by florists, this fragile glass: while pure with calibers, this
incremental ladder, where one satiates an appetite: singing for silence, or
sung, wrung, and fraught by contemplation: to rejoice at seconds, to feel existence,
at ruins and rainbows: this intricate reality, those outreached horizons, while
shadows plague an otherwise soul: at baptism daily, at deaths daily, at too
much deliberation: to adore this Love, this distinguished, complicated,
persuaded diamond: to need for persistence, to vie for patience, while both are
exercising diplomacy: oh for whispers, someone paying attention, someone
exercising such deceit: to breed a rift, to distinguish a thought, while Love
looks miserable: our trusty souls, agonizing over guidance, fair to believe sex
is equated with honesty: this need to surface, this soil with cranberries, this
sky with palm prints: if but to exist, if but to dance, or to give space to one
we adore: this hope for return, this fire in clouds, those exospheric planets:
our first love, our sung song, where, in spite of wrongdoing, Love needs to
hear total captivation: this terror soldier, this terrific warrior, or those
days our hands seemed empty: our saddest seconds, our interior sneezing, while
life is honored for destinies.
I
wrote a draft; I harnessed God; I rebuilt, sold to life, and crocheted a
miracle: this dead man, those dead times, that deceased relationship: this lost
daughter, this gravid moon, those gravid scars: this dawn-window, this hanging
curtain, those pleats distinguished for groveling: this eternal losing, this
black market, this running frenzy: to remember ecstasy, this fretful woman,
this heart shaped diamond: if but to live, or but to die, we remain committed!
