…so
special and spacial or district lights: those dearer dreams, our damned
inheritance, but frantic about comforts: losing reality, fretting screams, our
surface life a mirage: at core shivers, at gentle fires, so gutted, so fevered,
so irregular—at Jesus with regrets, showing such penance, or flogged mentally:
this tug of residue, those curious agents, as reviewed or dismissed: our older
worlds, our enflamed cadence, at romance feeling incapable—our green leafs, our
browner deserts, our hillside mud-lakes: afraid of essence, rehashing
probability, sensing something in agony: our warmer seconds, our flighty prose,
where something pulls phantasms: nautic noetic(s), knowing nonsensical(s), at
zeal seconds into reversals: at panting rivers, communicating with deer, or
feeding ants: such lonely reach, such intimate indecision, or mystic a machine
losing contact: such graves giggling, such daily tasks, over a zillion masks:
to adore a phantom, to renege on fervor, while tugged softly: those tender knuckles, those interior children, or too
capable an intimidating brain—at matches thinking, at feelings and emotion, or
so trapped this war he never won: absorbed in trepidation, or fearing those
alleys, or too paranoid to extend a helping glance: our epic disorders, our
first oaths, those idol women: at Amazons laughing, at courage too much liquor,
at mornings wondering: such numen, noetic, ninja or imperfect rage—those cages
sleeping, those bars winking, while spirit appeared: those taller totems, this
tale of glory, or this psychical twinge: to rehearse a name, or apologetics,
where Love has never felt his anguish—at black lava, sipping ingredients, or
sprinkled with something extraordinary: such rigid passion, such distant cries,
fretted for fretting and God heard….
…too
precious to hate, too precious to possess, too threatened for closeness: a
rabid heart, or frantic weather, this gamble, this terror, this moon-sun—as
aligned in fabrics, or deep those abysses, so ferric, so glamorized, so
cherished: to reread his thoughts, to feel a certain sentence, to stress a tad
bit—those furious, noetic, otic, or ontic curses: at piano shivers, those death
filled fields, at cotton so young and picking: (Love knew losing, so sided with
winning, while sex was a byproduct): our last song, that deranged looking mask,
at houses leaping in ritual: an outcast, or outlaw, or so tamed it becomes
irritating: thetic cries, ferric thorns, while love became an intellectual
lance: this raving hexagram, those caving insanities, while Love caught a
second glance: our jute with silence, our fiber genetics, or balance
accumulated through sodium: those intimate caves, this interior island, or
those carved beliefs: if but tablets, to condition a nation, while anger ensues
debating different Gods: scorched and raging, discolored and giggling, such
woven and intolerant twine: our ruth with wine, our days with levity, or Love
so acrobatic, so in charge, at conscientious distance….
I
fell for Love, those angry eyes, those obstinate, intrusive, candescent eyes:
such informed naivety, such abrasive accordions, so suspicious, so innocent,
and such anguish: flavored with joy, or crackling smiles, at something deeper
than warfare: with spirit adversary, this intangible lieutenant, those seconds
to forbidden thoughts: our classifications, our superior dispositions, or so
normal at moments a tear sky-drops: our warmer seconds, aiding and forgetting,
fleeing so easily: at ground hero, those electric flights, while charged an
evening in time: our running minds, as returning to mirrors, so influenced by
passing gazes: our voltage contours, as spontaneous students, fevered, floored,
and frantic: such loving hatred, or so petrified it felt good to submit—those
aims in crafts, this acrylic Levite, our agonies rushing into Judah: at
magnanimous overtures, at war-time trumpets, all forever an internal dynasty.
