…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!
