Lava Spiritual

I haven’t dug us, so at winds with fancies, so uncalculated—so innocent, so spent, at something algebraic: I swear life, this ditch with snakes, this curse with blessings: so at you those nights, so dreamy and alive, so dead to moods: as never a lose, as ever sharing, such carefree intelligence: at pearly white flesh, or mahogany brown skin, so afraid of mentioning too much: our sweaty taste-buds, our gorilla instincts, so relaxed pitted in a lion’s chamber’s: this old casket, walking and virile, at something too inventive: this bullfight, this ego chaser, while Love is agitated for more: our kids laughing, our parents dancing, at Lake Hope Barbeques: as agony flinches, so abrupt to tenderness, so wretched, scarred, and re-abused: such birth control, but Love is fine, plus, I want a child: “I missed it, I chanced it, I need us”: this land inhabited, this wolf gunning, this coyote with shotguns: those barricades, this slight odor, this new mixture: our first smile, our evening headache, this incredible, heart-flight, our energized night-core: such death-fairs, our first conference, our classroom outbursts: such by everything, a man joking, so enthralled by a singular habit: so pulled with pains, so enlightened by misery, and such a fool, for Love appears amazingly: our beats, our daughters, at ponds pitching wishes: this wall for dice, this spin for luck, or this kiss for devilish: I snatched a hookah, so rewound in time, to glance at pure beautiful nakedness: our young years, our younger bodies, at such elasticity: this morbid soul, this mathematical office, at something illegal in many states: this man running, this country city, so sexy, so deceased, revving in order to challenge sex: those inner millions, this mental trillion, at hearts but so removed: this woman, I must confess, I’ve never met our brains: this trenchant thought, about this trenchant person, while secular at science this jumping chi: at Marvin dancing, this empty living room, this crowded custom: those waves giggling, this woman appearing, while so at another’s respects: so billion with tests, so inherited with pains, where mother sat in silence filled and flooding deserts: those deep hollows, this hallowed vessel, cursing and speaking in tongues: peddles thrust’d, gas blasting, music shooting through traffic: this mad, manic mystic, this rabid, ravished, even redeemed rabbi: such rubble winking, such achy ribs, so reborn, so devastated, while confetti distinguishes our next affairs: so protected, so richly angry, so unforgiving!     …you made life hurt, you danced with anguish, you give while taking too much: you need so diligently, you care at survival, while forcing maniac attractions: this fool gunning, this dragon flying, so inbred, so inborn, so icy with deliverance: this life of ruins, this picture afar, so delicate needing sophistication: this office weather, this false reality, while playing it so safely: this dawn bleeding, this moon chuckling, this grandparent condoning thunder: our silence as acceptance, our comments ignored, so captured by merely a clamp: but Love is watching, and Love is indebted, plus, Love is loyal: our scarlet scarves, our liquid pebbles, plus, Love refuses to sing: this heart-wrench, this twisty wing, this dead, but gathered, series of particles: such reality, to need something dying, where Love adores destruction: this man shunning, this man begging, this hurt feeling goodness: at another with fear, at another with too much, or so considerate concerning a behavioral genius: this soul with fire, this old flame with hatred, or this father condoning such abhorrence: this inner joke, to imagine, Daughter, like Pinocchio to grandfather: this reaching beak, those bleak discussions, while sworn to obey: our social ingredients, if but to agonize those eyes, if but to cause a smidgen of melancholy: this soul forfeited, this dying feeling incredible, this torture as opposing this gift: those hands, this false piece of paper, those old feelings: that faux pas, this deep resistance, or occurred for glory but longing in music: those fading smiles, those sanctified avenues, this sip pushing into another atmosphere: our needy aches, this needy river, this lying, formidable, so addictive tongue….

Dear Energy,

…look at us breathing, this high affair, those casual exploits, this reeling catastrophe: so dark at sunlight, so soft with a tender seed, while death courted our family monster: this dreary participant, so many diaper rashes, so sick with existence: our purple skies, our peaches with sugar, our deeper inhalations: so confused with fancies, our samurai disciplines, our rivers pushing our homes—turning directions, washing leaves, this molehill captivity: at sun-escapes and fire, our interior microphones, our laser midnights: so cyan wombic, such a softer scent, at blue blazing battle-wars: so sundry at times, so alone with company, or running while years return us to home-plate: this lake with honey, this duck looking funny, this passion killing expectations: as dying for freedom, if but to live, if but to attain to something slipping away: this greasy steak, those potent mushrooms, this livid heart—those fumes wafting, those performs aching, to pass a scent and remember one scentless: our squalid fancies, our richer circumstances, while poetesses live with such agonies: so well-bred, so positioned, while I wrestle, which fork is apropos: desperate for Jeanne, this hat entrepreneur, this classic, deep rooted accident: this fable, this fib, this partial, exaggerated truism: at deeper axioms, so charged to perish, our womanly wombs seducing through bullfights: those tales gunning, one woman lost, where chasing and not capturing becomes existence: this angular ball, this pyramid sky, those rectangular lances: those opera-glasses, those opera-eyes, to want something ridiculed for classiness: those boudoirs, those decorations, or that knitted fantasy: to have routines, where comfort is her dynasty, so sick, so filthy, with neither an antidote: our Voltaire extravaganzas, our ancient Asians, at hand to soul combats: such passing madness, such restored capability, or such refreshed, or condemned attraction: this man so silly, addicted to images, while realizing capable, indistinguishable souls: where Love was courtesan, and Love visited campuses, and Love became a Kennedy:             

…such sipping, at opulence, at boutiques, and Love purchased a thousand dollar bra: (I saw Jesus; I’ve met chaos; I’ve become passive—at lingerie with Love, at supercells with daylight, at Oklahoma with mudslides: this family essence, this deeper slavery, while running to reappear: if but this doorpost, if but this pantomime, if but this mimicry: so at fairer concerns, to smell excitement, to exhale odors, as casual souls longing for dementias: our black oceans, our parched rainstorms, or better, our hungry self-images: at richer needs, this missed-identity, rereading this storyline: those feelings, whence, they came, while realized as losing captivation: those bloody blue and purple travesties; our weather so intuitive, our raspberries seasoned with emotions): as crazed and crowded, or suffocating but finding breath, or so close it dies to confirm anguish….

I stuck a rib;

I died so close;

if but control, or blueberries, at blue-jays:

this tiger gut, this lion vision, at Love

asking turmoil(s): those winning cries,

those chiseling eyes, at sudden sundown:

our fabulous woes, our fantastic wiles, at

furious wailings: those bellows, this

cloud-park, at something this feeling!

…we terror a scream, so slammed into corpses, or so challenged by green voices: at traumas in you, at red oceans with us, so torn by make-believe: or something closer, our denial of human-hood, while so irregular: this partial person, this partial response, our partial horizon: so cold in July, so warm in December, so agonizing come January: this middle space, this riddled gland, or close to a billion dollar goodbye…!

Supercell or Supernova (Avocado Passions)

…by softer intonation, something seeming casual, or daughters so close by attention: such delicate winds, such pardoned passion, so inclined, peering into turquoise cries: those regular sayings, those old clichés, at deeper turbulence: disappointed futures, exotic past adventures, so sullen, so pensive, fearing interior desires: so drugged out, or so grogged out, or too sober to tolerate those odors: our last cigar, our first cigarette, or too inclined by life: rereading Sade, this King of Sorrow, at films replaying internally: those legs, Love, those terrors, Love, our last first embrace, Love: so bottled for seas, so improved with deaths, while most women become radiant yogis: this spiritual web, this Walking out of Heaven, so clear this fatal mistake: but men change, as women cry, while those terms seem so devastating: nonetheless, this fleeing agony, those rolling glaciers, seated beneath an avalanche: if but to adore, this pleasing second, if but to re-conjure those terrific pains: so close but teary, so enlove but wailing, so sought but retreating: this index feeling, those supercell clouds, so agitated, by superseding thunder: those California eyes, those down south morals, or this wild, electrified northerner: our seeds, our blossoms, our re-agonized flowers: this portrait bleeding, our paint feeling acidic, our fresco annihilation: this city in Rome, this cage in Africa, or this alibis in Europe: so lost for action, so accursed for foolishness, while so crowded by feeling empty: this running cascade, dripping into Tennessee, or alone at carnivals in Mississippi: our needs for Love, this vibrant, all rules deceased, even glamorous exception: at lives redeemed, at clowns with sorrow, while wildness obeys its sudden callings: so tuned outwardly, so bathed in Atlantis, or so curious to realize something majestic: that particular position, while hated internally, where two people are taken by something integral: this patient nightmare, this feral excitement, if but one following chaos’ lead: our pagan ideals, our stripped flesh, our infantile personas: this adored Love, this channeled Love, where fire and brimstone and burden becomes this beautiful woman: so charged, so dead, so bought, so resuscitated: this gangland, this terrible seclusion, this rapid and manic music: those lost rules, our bodies giggling, our anger transformed: those blue graves, this red soil, or those orange horizons….

…seabirds gawking, those oceanic desert eyes, or this, nevertheless, complicated attraction: at needs for moments, but tugging at escapes, while realized as something genuine: those blue manikins, so earth-parched, so drastic, or laughing over something terrible: our last, Ouch, our first pleasure, so bubbly and dancing—so treacherous, so Cleopatra, so furled, at deaths with gin: those few persons, this purple castle, while pushed away: for life exploits, where non-negotiable dies, so sentenced to another office: those chairs, that computer, those tiny, deliberate, agonizing undercurrents: this fool at blueness, this burgundy night-castle, at mauve and teal so inclined: this retracted feeling, this barrage of emotions, so anti-those meals: this supernova, this afflatus, sudden upon a magnet current: this newness, this real feeling, as if with Love life comes to exist: our metaphysics, our cautious pragmatism, so rich in this knowledge domain: so scientific, so personal, at Love with actions: this lovely daisy, this begonia moaning, our tubs clogged with petals: such opulent existence, such affluent spirituality, while Love came, blew a tsunami, and laughed hysterically: at dazzled feelings, if but this person, if but so open we control fate: those lively souls, this walking Ghost, our technical colors: those Black Museums, those Metropolitan mistakes, or this Getty femininity: this internal Womanism, those conferences for lads, or daughters stressed for received in parts: this grandparent enterprise, this barbeque for our blocks, or so rich it felt good to become a philanthropist: our violet violence, this song on repeat, or this classical appearance: so torn by literature, at deeper concerns, while needing this Emily image: so mystic, to rev a heart, so icy, to kill an angel: this need for flesh, those traumatizing women, or alluding to darkness: this begging rationale, those torpedo feelings, at emotion giggling, or sudden to arise—this lot of thieves, this family tree, this family knee, and nothing was observed: so totem, so grave-stalked, at sunrise reciting concentration: our last thoughts, our morning glory, so appeared as a scent: those squirrels as nutty, this pigeon one chip, so affected by mother: changed and declining, for waves burn moons, while it was Paris this woman: those softer voices, this fencing depression, or so pushed we laugh: this gallon of wine, this new cigar, asking for evidence concerning our strengths: at saffron complexion, at rubescent sensitivities, so raced for charging down Crenshaw: those school-lights, this school-care, while Love ached in school-wars…!

If Philosophy Dies

…so at haven hearts, this perfect mentality, our appraisal predicaments: those error eyes, those terror cries, at haunted houses: those chandeliers, this purple vase, our intellectual shards: this black horizon, those interior glimmers, so shattered, so alive, at contradiction: this need for pain, this chilled resistance, so remarkable, so unpleasant, even maniacal—these as living, or those as dying, racing through cohorts: American Oxygen, drop panic gorgeous, thither, our guts, our screams, while wailing at screens: this cinema, those classic perfections, those classical women: cigars for breakfast, cognac for pleasures, so argumentative, so enthralled: re-working hunches, re-knitting exaggeration, so clement at times, so theatrical at chimes, while dead and fretting motion: our wrangling pillows, our noisy silence, our radical classrooms: such fury with fire, such failure by successes, so serious, plus, defensive: such addict children, so atomic with existence, or such an interruption: our fairer converses, our liquid insults, while resistance became triumph: at terrible science, so much as deceased, while living seemed exhaustion: those high ideals, this froward reality, plus, your picture: so at neediness, so deeply bothered, remodeling particular chaos: to sense your interior, to sentence your countenance, or to arrive so close to empathy: such panic those lights, at notifications, where something genuine kept speaking: such filthy thoughts, such rich humanity, plus, so condemned by condition: our brave daughters, their casual mischief, so indebted to God’s emotions: our feral habits, those delicate palms, at rising prisons: so thwarted by existence, so frustrated with insistence, while less to pains and more to sorrows: our shivering motion, our blue blazing blackness, at something forbidden but deadly remarkable: this rising inadequacy, such mutual controversy, while parents wail for sanity…(those deranged souls, this mastery woman, those deep dying concerns: those answers, this music, this profit—at blank with suns, at moons feeling shady, at stars leaping, even tiptoeing: those minerals, this drop gorgeous brain, this idiotic attraction: so many idioms, such physiognomy, while Love remained unread—or racing unraveled, so chaste, so nasty, such roundness: this feud with society, this stone brick wall, those hierarchies: this interior nun, this romantic mystic, or yogis blended with psychologies: this reaping science, those aching synonyms, at wrenching acrimonies: those darting eyes, this subtle disdain, while wondering concerning this addict: this round-away midnight, this violent passion, so wretched, so rich, so filthy: our lyrical assassination, our revving peaks, at Mount Survival: those days as runaways, this interior orphan, at mother pleading for something normal: such resistance, such silence, while trauma became a fugitive: such hate ponds, such geese wings, while afraid to give this mirror): so charmed to die, so ignored for dying, where Love ached a sudden outburst: fleeing concerns, removed from crowds, and hoping for recognition: this small ocean, this petit galaxy, so influenced, so removed, or so trespassed….

…ever and anon, this silent enchantment, a man left with his thoughts: falling into love, removed from self, while enlove with an impression: this inner island, those exotic roses, or dice made of porcelain: our perfect images, this imperfect perception, our savior enterprises: to savor passion, to long by concerns, while Love needed a few good lines: so dedicated, so far North, at deep mythologies: this methodical language, our methodical lovemaking, while each evening carries its sciences: at epistemological fires, while hell to such rigor, where forfeiting seems impossible: our cyan ribs, our orange X-rays, while something mechanic has lost its luster: at luxurious sights, so debated internally, while closer to loses: this creative magnet, this siren song, our ships crashing, concerned with resurrection: this hard pavement, this erased sky, those colors imposed upon: our brains sensing bugs, our corner webs, our fragile egos: ten years by friendship, twenty years at marriage, while wresting forbidden rivers: so cursed for honesty, too real for children, so hasty with battles: (those devious seas, so pushed by winds, while little Amy is carrying a shark: this deep gray matter, this skyward picture, where many are claiming ownership: struck by madness, so re-acclaimed, so curious concerning those portals: at Jesus-Brains, at mystic silence, so churned and deliberate: those cherry flamingoes, this apricot reality, where fruit rotten(s): so cashmere, so suade, so lethal—at unreachable branches, or unspoken, overly participant roots: singing sweet harmonies, confronted by essence, our bodies retaining heat): but Love is mythical, plus, Love is dangerous, plus, Love has selected traumas….           

So Wrong So Good

I adore you, this complex reason, our white winter, our golden autumn: so stressed and paranoid, such sun-kiss vibes, such burgundy flesh: at kinship genetics, so close those arms, so rich our attics: those skycraft agonies, sudden a sadness blue, while Love broke television: our raided brains, at terrible freedoms, so basic, so adjacent, or too mahogany: our peering cries, our pierced dilemmas, so unthreaded, so reknit, if but this summer ghost: to die in us, to ignore scars, so young, too maladjusted, weaned towards civilized: so laid away, those rental poses, while minds play guitars: this last pint, this pomegranate gin, this vest knitting its exaggeration: so wild, so alone, so crowded: our gloves bleeding, our skies screaming, such thunder-brain-satori: at mindfulness, so concentrated, as approaching purity but unholiness: our moist skin, our empty ointments, so raw, so alive, and God heard: those penalties, those rewards, so on at times, so deceased when angry: our shared steaks, our figurative speech, so atlas, so undecided: this glass empty, this bottle full, at something requiring deep courage: (this man as lying, or concerning his models, while thrust for damaged: those remarkable metaphors, this evening’s muse, or so lost it was by luck to reach Mars: our rebuked arcs, our cherry grapes, or listening for feeling quite detached: absorbed in awareness, at a subtle thump, while adrift time and again: those majesty minxes, those well-touched chalkboards, at melanin and gristle: if but to rescue Jesus, if but to possess such patience, our palms, our nails, our likenesses: so accursed, Love, vying for remission, if but to agonize over something playful: so gutted, so opalescent, at trenchant reservoirs: our filthy bodies, our bathed indexes, so cursed, so abandoned, so relocated)!

I adore you, Love, this machine participant, this warm, fiery chart: so diamond at seconds, so enthralled at minutes, or recharged a day after losing touch: this deep regime, those war crosses, at desert fences afire one first tyranny: our ways so chapel, our caps turned, churned, and sacrificed: our haven annals, our second date, while encyclopedias speak about dying romances—this field so lake-like, this muddy such snow texture, our alibis so skeptical: at bass and treble, so terribly enlove, while fretting another person’s energies: our cabbage with yams, our hearts with music, at something too terrific to challenge: (at treasured womb-work, or terrible contemplation, at times, so pulled adrift pondering another’s texture: those grips, those bicycles, this flaming insanity: to see Love spin, to bounce an emotion, or so dearly submissive: to need a vixen, to want for matrimony, to aguish a light nightmare: so independent, so death with rules, so sickly receptive: this feud in men, those days to realization, while captive to sense how we lose).

Glasses are Pleading

…bring us life, and I’ll love you, so inclined to perish: at milk black turmoil, at cagey skies, so prone to Tequila: our walking sorrows, our broken breads, so accustomed to communion: this trial by error, this wrenching concentration, so lost to inhibitions: for God is looking, our Holy Ghost is shook, while steaks are broiling: such pitched green eyes, so dedicated to giving lenience, while our souls sit awaiting participation: this field of feelings, this sophisticated determination, at pools staring at balloons: those deep illusions, as proving motives, so cut and abused this ten year old mistake: our mothers freelancing, our curses at hiatus, so destroyed and making love: this absolute ruin, this emotional addict, while it never felt so extraordinary: to adore by vision, to assume attributes, while Love is painted tawdry: but hell to rationalism, while more to death-sentences, at orgasmic cliff-hangers: this dead lieutenant, this relished motif, at Love biting and gnawing and pulling divinity: those wild islands, this exotic fruit, while Vodka becomes an aphrodisiac: those creative pains, this misery with wings, while eyes sadden with water: our maniac criminalities, while tugged by something gentle, to imagine a statuesque queen seated with her husband: this field of dynamite, this pantomime adventure, while Love lives by those ventriloquist: this bruised ego, this deep friend, where Love agonizes close to 4 a.m.: those slithering tears, to reap vindication, while, nonetheless, actions remain in sameness….     I’ve   landed nearby, those tunnels to majesty, where two become perfected behaviors: this institution by lies, this instruction by fears, where deaths seem apropos: such deep appreciation, while stung with insistence, where granny sensed a disjunct: but Love is roses, and Love is ridiculous, while Love is unaware of dysfunction: those bold interruptions, those watery rockets, indeed, Love just collapsed: so near our knees, pleading cadence, where adventure seems so deadly: this village of romances, this ape in turquoise, our divisions slightly overlooked: this gap in science, this blood, gilt machine, so declined to eat a pile of dust: those dusky mornings, this foggy agenda, while true beauty is tugged in different directions: this self in millennia, this inward algebra, while so many are vying for contradiction: this crying vest, those languishing eyes, or this angry voice: so punished and unseen, so crystal and mixed, while even Love is unsure: at terrible actions, so attuned to dying, while Love has never devoted life as seen those seconds: those gorgeous legs, those ravishing faces, as but a gift vacuumed in curses: this bleeding exosphere, this cyan encyclopedia, while agony chased what sex erased.     …so desperate to feel you, so inclined to ignore you, so at peace with never glancing forward: this fool living backwards, this man living morality, or so needy for one woman dying to sustain us: this hard-pressed assassination, this hard-won annihilation, where honor is guillotined: indeed, so vacuumed, so empty, our seed at cliffs: this picture in brain-wars, this curse in island-skies, so captured for deceased and living luxuries: as rebuilt creatures, our teary, glossary eyes, while patience became a feeling for weakness: this demanding woman, this imposing poet, while said poet relishes in fantasies: this country for living orbits, this wafting into souls, while Love sits, adores prose, and extinguishes internal motion: those dreams I sold, those feelings I felt, where Love was seeking new adventures: this ravished illness, this sick lesion, while Love adores a clean slate: further with passion, as adoring majesty, to sense you and feel meditative: those few women, those red vines, while chewing and having a fit: as tropes invade, while paradox shadows, so sentenced to oxymoron: this festive emotion, this festive mind, where reality slapped hellness into actuality: those few genuine sequences, this magnetic swan, or so cursed I’ll never venture her eyes: as men broken, as fathers oblivious, while certain mothers never cross those lines….

Nomadic Courage

We wrestle motion, this interior fountain, our continuous observations: at jackal essence, tussling with turquoise, so keen, so vigil, and depleting existence: our casual highs, our latent lows, at existential liturgies: such soft cadence, such sporadic woes, so catchy, so tugged, or so attracted: at barely a glance, chancing existence, so pure those seconds, so impatient our moments: those fluttering emotions, this decadent feather, at eyes or torments or forgiveness: this human enterprise, our deadly moods, so appalled by feelings: a dragon’s kiln, a snake’s loyalty, so imaginative, so realized, while scribbling in dark ink: as texture changes, as ink runs, our nibs exploding: such agitation, over something minor, slamming a palm filled with vitamins: those silent, secretive assessments, while leaked into our public square, or such irritating encounters: such dormant spiders, so exiled to skies, as obedient creatures: those flustered rivers, this inner city, those meditative traffic lights: our sandy oceans, our apostolic warfare, or those shoebill gazes: accustomed to oddities, fueled by existence, such radiant, semi-extension personalities: our axioms giggling, our absolute fruits, or this raging trombone: at regular meals, eating regular salads, so meshed, so ecstatic, or desiring something akin to motion: those liquid eyes, our liquid converse, so tender, so moist, approaching a dry molehill: those terrors, those blank thoughts, at life, at curses, at aloneness.

…it senses our whirlpools, this mental language, our reactions determined by defenses: to believe those stories, our moving lights, while realizing such susceptibility: our moving meadows, our deep forests, while losing count of majestic trees: our souls by fires, our predicament by existence, or entire lives concerned with our condition: those star-lights, this  river bulb, so curious and captured by adventure: to extend this passage, to cure our meats, to slice into a given interaction: those dark, murky rooms, those interior, brilliant colors, at something giving its delusion: or so ravished, found in truths, where two are adult honesty: those intricate creatures, with mother’s features and father’s limbs: so sung into life, so challenged by concerns, at such forward glances: so paranormal seconds, such Paraclete incentives, our dragon minds, our cosmic children, their tiger instincts: so alive those jewels, so delicate by permission, while longing to mimic behavior….

…what for those grays, this valley needing courage, so unfastened at uncritical moments: those hallway caves, this trembling presence, such depth, such horizon, or pure overflow: at brighter wishes, entwined by webs, so casual, looking into something ambivalent: such dependable chaos, such inscrutable measures, by walls, deep deserts, or myriad confusion: so crowded, so pensive, at this craving need for deliverance: while never at thoughts, this normal exchange, or angry with God: those tender emblems, this tender piano, this reluctant voice: to share a secret, concerning this author: I possess shortcomings: so involved with this, or so captured by that, while missing those in-between occurrences: at treasured desires, wishing for such by rescues, while interests are increasing rapidly: such waning delights, such curious creatures, while true relationship wears over a thousand hats: this getting into, this psychic adventure, this soul excavation: such idyllic ecstasy, such erumpent agonies, or candles set atop violins….

…so absorbed by ponds, while feeding geese, a bit touched by simplicity: our chased dreams, our metaphysical screams, so screened, so imperfect, but so adored: pitching coins, repainting dice, remodeling character—this field of dynamite, this mid-sky mime, or this persona intruding unto interruption: so taught by behavior, so instinctive with replies, or far too contemplative: as made into observation, so believed in instances, while realizing our shortcomings: or simplistic intuition, to charter our paths, to champion our stereotypes: as kids run gallantly, as daughters gossip fervently, as young men negotiate interior tugs: this song through daylight, those antiquitous concerns, seeming so inconsequential: those majestic emotions, those mystical feelings, searching into our godlike essence….  

Sweet Deaths by Living

…so told to science, such rich envy, while remorse settles and diminishes: to stay our ruins, such softer whispers, so at something labeled love: our infant wisdom, so secluded, so protected in silence: those dead feelings, this recaptured feeling, so tugged by disease: our minds, Chilly, our guts, Silly, at mirrors running and looking backwards: this end day passion, those end week loses, so at terrors concerning those winters: those tragic tombs, bones made by letters, this furious heart-fire: so watery, so baptized, at deacons their third wives: seated this veranda, sipping cognac, teary over this divine smile: so captured, so cured, afloat a nightmare and raging: those purposed psychs, this inscrutable woman, so cursed, so blessed, peering into dying: our sick mortality, this existential dread, so infused, so lost, so devastated—this interior narration, this woman so close, while art abuses its winnings: those impressions, this falling, as called to drown in dungeons: such rabid behavior, as paused in lava, so maya, so Mechtild, so maniacal—to feel a person, this long-range encyclopedia, while Love extracts a definition: at blue-bloody mistakes, this life with Love, as something we didn’t desire: but hell to emotion, and child to logic, so fueled but harvesting weeds: those slithers grounded, this wheat for television, this insulation critical music: notwithstanding, it became such, this hellish anxiety, while cut for ruined: those beige movies, this see-through person, while I never cared more than Jesus: so belonging, so caring, at Love with sheer observance: this blue terror, this red sun, if but to attract, if but to explode, so whet, so deceased, while living pure anguish: it comes this flavor, looking at genius, so much to laughing out loudly: this attic of rooms, this sky-vestibule, this interior hallway: (at  Love with feelings, so charged with flame, peering into a thousand year old armoire): so desperate, so calm, such a precious oxymoron—those old feelings, this killing instinct, so charged by a decent memory: so angst’d, so cured, so at flame—this machine, this tender anxiety, or those long, running, even discussion legs: to perish with weather, to die with havens, our palms, our sheets, our unlived necks!

…if but for honesty, this clever woman, this incredible winner: to imagine life, right those arms, so egregious our daymare: at Sandra hives, at Alexandria passions, or Theresa holiness: our banquet halls, our blanket chills, so abandoned to black rivers: if but to die, as but to live, so shaky dependent upon mood shifts: our chestnut bread, our bubbly bellies, our flirtatious eyelashes: to see something cringing, to address like looseness, to receive like ghosts: this revved fever, this lightening moon, while one specializes at making us feel un-special: to dismiss dung-night, to envelope sun-rave, so cliff-like, so exaggerated, so at peace with a few longevities: this deep respect, for Love was romantic, while Love was dismissive: this beautiful night-care, this gorgeous train-casualty, at something so elated it drowned its illusion: those new motifs, this Aaliyah frenzy, so high, so low, so wound, so wounded: to flee with self, as returning to passion, where nights call to surrender: those locked sights, this tender paradox, where Love new it was going to die: as pushing limits, so many crushes, to infect while stone cold at wars….

I come with bruises, I die at feelings, while so cursed I shall destroy: this film in blueberries, this angst in cranberries, those floors, those machines, those dynasties: as men winning, something losing, while life is never with sameness: to abscond with hearts, to relish in ruins, while offended that life whiplashed: such caprice, such islands, so deeply craven: this mixture woman, this bold cavity, this dear extraction: if but this person, so high with lowness, so cursed with absolute worship: as found and losing, as winning and lost, while it felt good to reclaim scruples: those gunning alleys, this gunning system, while I needed two good psychs: if but to fawn, if but to dine, if but to recap a day of sheer emotion: those latent cringes, those latent anxieties, to see those persons as complicated women: this far dream, this far scheme, so captivated by something so close: those shared seconds, while so alert, to ensure we do not trigger dynamite: those remote features, our plastic binoculars, our curse, our force, our silent appraisals!

City Odyssey

…winking at ambition, tugged by shyness, extinguished, free, or alone a dungeon: remote surprises, remote feelings, something tugging, something vocal, at heights and trains and so enthused by something vacant: this colorful opalescence, this iridescent river, at teal blue black intuition: such a creature, abandoned to habits, while forcing composure: this college network, this caged background, this mother, this grievance, this trenchant, heart-wrenching concern: those yellow symbols, this musical orange, at plums with injustice: so curious to hear names, so ritualized and flying, so agitated and dying: this roller ride, this rail fever, at feral, ferocious age-wars: so at granny, this silent, distinctive, whispering creature: snuggling a Moore’s, rereading a novel, or pacing her very voice: this curse in children, attempting to garner innocence, where absolute fire has terrorized her soul: this freelance freedom, this freelance prison, while metaphysics adrift a casual thought: such purity gawking, such spirit listening, while thrown for abased thrust by frustration: this experienced intimidation, so drawn to waters, while fixed to behave in accordance: or blue shivers, this man and wife, where Love abandoned family: those red tiles, this purple gown, or violet green horderves: such tuna with pop, such anguish with despair, of so soft a sell meant for ruins: this leaflet memoir, this arising novella, or classrooms barricaded in silent, unspoken complication: this running sky, this frantic cloud, so pushed into something gentle: our casual smiles, our casual homes, our casual, catastrophic chaos: this interior essence, so yanked by mystery, at thoughts and books looking to define persons: our years shunning indifference, our years becoming hebetated, our realized, impassive, but needy fires: this experienced orator, our mesmerized audience, at liturgies attempting to locate balance: our small aches, or sky-avalanches, so wild with actions, so loud with profanity, at this mental restaurant: those island cities, those freeway transmissions, so geared, so afloat, at such a day-kitten: such empty enchantment, such aggravated poison, while thrust by peaches….

…if sewn in happenstance, a dream to break free, a scar to survive: at red oceans, flipped by rage, so unraveled by music: those sandy eyes, this frustration, while realizing this sunlit capsule: our indebted bodies, those familiar clutches, this brave horizon: so allergic to freedom, so agitated by literature, so influenced by deep grayness: abused by irritations, so trespassed, at warm conversations with our masters: needing distance, offended by distance, so drenched by paradoxes: this man revving, this machine sluggish, or manic involvement pleading its regards: at tyrannies laughing, at mirrors flippant and grave, so encharged but changed: something slipping into bleakness, or something content with servitude, while private hiatuses speak to rising violence: this probing sentence, this concrete ocean, or this liquid wall: so at mountainous glaciers, such indicative tablets, while communities only associate with likeness: as mice with mice, or snakes conjuring heat, or gorillas with war-calmness: those boxed valleys, this penchant in Zion, or so far light Africa is fringing: those rabid roads, such false realness, so fevered by fallacious honesty: our broken fixedness, our oxymoronic truths,  this terrible and converting conflict: again, those eyes, or this body, or knowing where Love sought survival: as cherished intuition, or grander insights, while swearing Love is perfect: this fern of yeast, this stove with ice, at warm refrigerators: to exclaim by madness, to feel so secure, where adored elements point to something astray: our thought filled nights, our grumbling fasts, so ridged, so rigged, so recklessly in harm’s favor: but something was lights, and something needed rejection, while some have embraced this morphing chase: erased from darkness, or darkness its maiden, at seas for millennia….

Science or Love, Pain or Thrice

…so extravagant those grays, our facial representatives, so alone or saturated by something gray: this churning element, those tales for souls, so sought by an interior lieutenant: wrestling maya, such profound illusion, seated three cedars into our forests: while rain trickles, or daughters converse, our crème and syrup: hitherto, this deep concentration, rereading old notes, so destined to overwhelm: our bluest sunshine, our tender inconvenience, so attracted to something running: our cordial eyes, our mean spurts, our deliberate divisions: so calculated, such a marigold, our apish descendents: those gorilla charms, those lemur antennas, so comfortable with indecision: at ruby/algae lakes, or lost in mental lagoons, while rereading certain sensations: our courage to lose, our loses winning, at casual exchanges: those nice outfits, such business attire, so gifted, so curt, so dismissive: perfected to protect, replaced and gathering, so spacial a particular concern: as but in reason, as torn by logic, so increased where others are waning: this field of pictures, this wealth of knowledge, at such medieval mystics: this cave in time, such soggy, sodden soil, so reversed, while pertinent information lingers in dimensions: our animal essence, those cryptic pheromones,

so ecstatic with passion, so charged with lies, as lost, concerned, and puffing nicotine: to die in us, to relive in us, so desperate for freedom, so alert in rhinestones, while incumbent this feeling pain possesses: to say so little, to remove such salience, at deep intuitive seconds: those fairer cries, those repentant woes, so wilted by existence, so enflamed with mystery: such awe with fevers, such darkness those gems, while purely at war concerning probabilities: those deductive proofs, this axiom madness, while one dismisses chemistry: this need for passion, this aggressive principle, so separated from experience: such alienation, so green and orange and purple and cyan: this aching reality, while underprepared, where some are so saturated with wisdom: those reading machines, those quickened wits, or this elegance in particular deaths….

…love becomes messages, our neurotransmitters, where children speak to such love: our children give seasons, as needed to persist, while we point at our love-vine: otherwise, prior to orgasm, or near after orgasm, becomes a scientific approach: but familiarity bleeds, coloring our sinuses, where a gentle hug becomes us: to share this brief exchange, to fight for authentication, while so tugged by insecurities: such wisdom woes, such increased silence, or pertinent knowledge-pains: our scholars surfing, our alley-men screeching, our oarsmen slighted by contention: such black/white resistance, such forces at war, while something disdained becomes our future: at potent feelings, a daisy midair, so portrait ready for catastrophes—this deep expansion, this Martial Art, so realized as if Love has redeemed us: as knowing for ousia, this cataphatic address, where an Adored One is so prepared for battle: such recruitment, as needing this machine, such as losing our psychiatry: this new, relentless shadow, this person’s hunches, this rewound clock: to maintain distance, for nothing is quite reality, while over three decades speaks to something called by love: this misnomer, this chemical effect, while neurotransmitters speak incandescence: as captured in seconds, to feel something falling, where a stranger looks over and smiles: such needs to have her, such requests to unleash us, while One is vying for his linchpin: so unlatched and gunning, so released and captured, or so at tears staring into Divinity: our Bhakti increments, our rajah frustrations, so attuned to denoting love….

Brain Yachts

…powered by ten leopards, such by ghosts we castle, at left churns, amused and glinty, our bodies liquefied: so casual about love, so restricted to boxes, so inclined to utter corporate love: so mechanic, searching by looseness, adored by ten leopards: above intentions, below structure, so absolute: needing reflection, so reflexive this audience, while authors often refer to experience: those star streams, such Technicolor, so alive in seconds: while found muddy, so dusty our ethics, where morals seem over-exaggerated: this Levite collar, this slow beginning, thereinto, this atypical body clenching anxiety: so analogy, so tortured, to find a second strapping a stranger: tied and remorseful, pleading and begging, if never to break freedom: such womanly courage, such cuffs and abandon, while ceiling mirrors display shame: nestled and cuddling, dying while satiated, so many years, so many women, where one becomes a Priest: such softer whispers, such a softer Bianca, so tender, well built, giving souls such a nightmare: so challenged by reality, this perfect reality, this late reality, where God abused reality: our society needing profanity, our full figured catastrophes, our knitted little women: so thrust by essence, so encouraged to pursue, where sophistication becomes an avalanche: so unfurled, staring at palaces, such amazing physicality: this pictureless master, this caged supreme, so uncaged and fleeing into glory: our Anthony hearts, our representational art, while some maniac rolls around upon glass: such grassy intuitions, this ashy elbow, or one’s beard soaked in fluids: this self-portrait, this casual image, so intrigued to smell our bodies: those softer scents, this lava concern, such to summers crying: our wintry casualties, our spring passions, at fallen majesties: those monocles, this interior message, to sense mirrors raging at those pictures….

…by what channel, to become strength, while overwhelmingly vulnerable: to vet bipolar disorder, to prepare with insight, a man glowing into orbits: by what collection, our storyboard, our interior storehouses: such images, such fervent, free, so imprisoned, godlike cadence: as focused but searching, if but this supreme, if but something worthy of adherence: such hermetic discipline, such casket exhilaration, such cold, disastrous, heartfelt forests: while lonely winning, while surfed for scratched and submitting: those blanket propositions, this false dichotomy, but a person must hold to gravity: knowing love, abused for love, this boxing match those chains: so slammed into justice, those wide, loud, wintry courtrooms: so at remarks, so encouraged, where Judges realize bull-ness: so concerned with aging, so immortal his soul, so relaxed enough to grimace: this world of maniacs, this world of casualties, agog at Magog, but worshiping idols: this floored expectation, a soul early morning, to arrive five tiers into our sun: unflinching control, such exterior conferences, while another is prone to sever our ropes: so dangerous, but unknowingly, which permits innocent appeal: at mystique memories, at mind mansions, our millennia unmentioned: so McCool, so scientific, or so enchanted with fantasy notions: those potent authorities, this clever losing, while a daughter becomes a better person: our first ingredient, becomes our second triumphant, so advantaged surging through memoirs: such bitten nails, such nervous habits, at flights and feral, so fretted into our futures: furthermore, a terrible fraction, a morbid equation, at tears with life, gnawing upon dragonflies: our decadent, delectable, detestable charts: our cleaving for clutching for releasing souls: our cemented abstracts, our secret understandings, while inclined to resist a notion two quarters a fountain: as flung for abused, or abused now winning, while relaxation rarely finds an active mind: such concentration, such knee deep mud, while Love knows such fertility: this full destination, this flavored detonation, such fervent, flying dormancy….  

Naasti or Asti

…modified moods, semi-disappointments, so allergic to touch, such dharma, such samsara, while it feels bad to seek nirvana: our allegory, our charms, this center, this point, this casual assassination: his eyes, his thoughts, this deep interruption: such conflict, while leasing another human, so alert in minds speaking poetry: searching epitomes, searching epigraphs, but too indignant to supplant another’s work: this original man, this climatic soul, while so low it aches to inhale: searching internal fields, associating mood behavior, so condemned for uttering a one-to-one correlation: pondering our escapes, pondering this fiction, so broken, so hypnotized, needing something esoteric: to embody this language, to become this mysticism, to adore something feeble with breath: this losing war, this interior duhkha, while believing in deva Tropicana(s): this fire so ramped, this woman so clear, where clarity becomes thoughts: our deep complaint, while looking at persons, to realize this feeling is partial: at mental terrace, leaping into sulfur, as if Love adored a dying man: so distressed, so inflamed, while Love is oblivious to winter’s grains: such sipping, such disaster, while one calmly endures a woman’s nonchalance: this needy man, our needy ways, while comfort comes with neediness: at balconies musing, at patios barbequing, or at parks sensing something fabricated: at terror wars, so enlove with women, so charmed by graces: this complex conglomerate, this multifaceted machine, or this feeling enterprise: where mother was an offshoot, this dynamic theme, where something senseless pursues alchemic fancies.

…so incredible livings, such dramatic ironies, where I wish to suggest more than movies: at blood purple mistakes, so enchanted with perfection, while perceived as one losing: this degree machine, this tender pain, at flowers and leaves a bit pensively: such futuristic/historical karma, where something curses genealogy, and something follows actions, while something redeems after years by turmoil: those glinty eyes, this glinty dramatical, so cured in sufferings: our traumatic sores, this cut in genetics, so sliced, so removed, so deceased: our metabolic, caloric intakes, this frying community, this scientific definition: so charged with worship, so needy to entities, while childhood addicts a vessel to something semi-explained: such vajrayana calamities, such warrior Brahmans, at priests and physical forces, so inclined to reschedule Divinity: our brains attached, needing those first few years, while growth might prove its separations: at core conflict, or such a motif, while thrown into irony: our expectant personalities, this thing called with diligence, while remote feelings lay in abandonments: such wreckage, such reborn resistance, such penance and ecliptic curiosity: this treacherous villain, this mountainous urge, such yogic pressure: as raja souls, meditating relentlessly, to happen upon a Bhakti warrior: those sensations, looking at one’s everything, while sentenced to chance a terrific lose: at prints to winds, at glens to tragedy, so impossibly edged towards trespass!

…so much in minds, to feel such attraction, to imagine that two can beat odds: to imagine forsaken life, in honor of dying, to envelope a world into two people: that tragic attachment, those tragic joys, this tragic happiness: to seclude and be free, this dying in dungeons, to adore God for such happenstance: this reckless, buoyant, intoxicant: this half ass person, so bent, so trampled, so indebted to self-knowledge: such endless courage, such remarkable episodes, at deacons and bishops conveying our total disobedience: to worship our nests, to worship our souls, to kneel in prayer to something living as humans: such exaggeration, such secret livings, so captured, so distraught, so charged as thunder enters our women: moreover, a curse, to need this deeply, as two become homeopathic: this guarana woman, this ginkgo man, at purpose destroyed and looking into unforgiveness: so allegorical, such an allusion, so actively Jerusalem: our Benjamin instincts, our Judah warfare, as living, instinctive machinery Levites: this scene so clouded, this mixture so revved, this woman so in his marrow: to desire foreshadowing(s), to look for something not coming, to settle into a complaisance life: so weblike, such a snake, while dragons are running for courage: those beige balloons, this monster repentant, or fatiguing a blue angular moon: at needs for rebirth, so casual a star, while Love ached for minutes: this gunning soil, this heart-trench-coat, so declined, so captive, at campfire negotiating with pash!     

Satori Daughter

I trek energy, Love; so bright and cadent, so lambent and musical: our theatrics, right; our crazed respects, our ushered frustration: those eyes monitoring, those eyes challenging, so young and pure but insistent: a father’s innocence, a mother’s intentionality, where father couldn’t sense what mother sensed: our planes to China, our Asian war-tides, so enchanted with Rome: at treasuries giggling, at serious seconds, so charged by a sudden mood: so liquid with séances, so intrigued by Renaissances, at nuance, casualty, and rain: those minutes watching you, while consumed by madness, where Prima followed instructions: this laid memoir, this delicate disposition, but memory becomes lucid: so clear those nights, this struggle with mother, this battle with granny: this tickling nothingness, where unsighted became music, while allegations became terrible: despite, realism, despite, actuality, despite bruises and mischief and something slightly arrogant: our days to begging, our dreams to seas, where one watches, feels remorse, and continues unsaid actions: our minds so rough, our feelings so hurt, plus, a frightened disposition: this world of pomegranates, this village of peaches, where inflamed passion lasts until one knows us: but yours is innocence, and yours sings mythologies, and yours is enflamed by mysticism: this ancient footing, this tread under clouds, this sky-footprint: our palms gripping exospheres, our esoteric dialogues, so exotic a pulse reaching into our future: those business enterprises, this reality by questions, so sought, so captured, and such struggle: to imagine college life, those difficult situations, to confess something ingrown: repeating messages, the best as offered, so clouded by passive motivation: but yours are sights, even secrets, so selective about reality: this fine predicament, looking at other mothers, sensing this perfected aura: (I was so that way, listening more than speaking, considered handsome and well-mannered: I’d comport this way, I’d ask particular questions, I’d pass a compliment: such cadent music, such orchestra hearts, while Love adored appreciation: this helmet frustration, those fathers watching, those frequent visits): so touched by life, so intrigued with silence, nudging, smiling, or laughing unbeknownst to reason: those symbolic sensations, those séance moments, so metrical, so methodic: or acting without structure, infused by sudden anger, where a young man is guilty for being inconsiderate: (that deep fear, so thrown with life, a woman imagines that Love will leave: this wretched chaos, this internal lute, where reality wouldn’t proffer opportunity: those sudden shifts, to elicit a response, our days soliciting emotion: but yours offers hope, where elders are a bit romantic, and mid-aged folks are a bit pessimistic: such optimism, such caring planetariums, at something seeming saturnine: those gloomy outlooks, this gloomy society, while young adults must adore life): hereinto, this probing magnet, this core explanation, this land of antiques: your bulbous mind, your watered ferns, while restructuring tumbleweed: so automatic, so brain-like, so adored for multiple habits: semi-deceptive, semi-deliberate, or quasi-determined: an absolute posit, or extreme bright darkness, so mechanic, so liquid, so concrete: indeed, with allure, feeling insecurities, while pressed to become something original:

Our dreams roving excitements, our souls filled by acidic(s), this sea so lurid, those embarrassing colors, while time has died: this lovely chaos, those filled springs, this intuitive lake, this satori daughter.       

So Charged by Existence

We rummage and sail, so grafted, so attached, behaving with distance: this field of cheetahs, this valley of lemurs, our casual disobedience: reborn with passion, sensing a better existence, so determined to live: our dependent moods, greeting our insecurities, or acting with sheer abandon: seeking our souls, those colorful portraits, so encouraged, so lively, struck by angelic roots: if but to exist, by remarkable pleasures, so accused of hedonism: thereinto, our condition, our outstanding, solely relevant, internal condition: at terrible beauty, or angular deceits, so close, so lonely, such resentment: our predicaments, so self-examined, while preparing for madness: but yours is patience, understanding, complete and raw science: such honesty slavery, while reaping esteem, so pushed, so abandoned, so captured: our orange waves, our green horizons, therewith, such massive heart drops: this wilderness trek, this wilderness trail, so inclined to behave out of character.

…so familiar with love, so threatened by dying, at something so private: our best friends, our old lovers, while feeling solitary: senses rebooted, tiny fire furious, at flame and water removed from mirrors: so angelic, so hurt, so captured by wage wars: so torn and fenced, so free and flying, our years at contradiction: those subtle distinctions, this feeling by rejection, or embraced and pulling while disappointed: our fabulous, unseen, reexamined hearts: this pillaged soul, those jotted notes, this repeated existence: too safe for some, too volatile for others, or just insync with something vulnerable: our morning meats, our bagels with jelly, our scrabbled green onion and eggs: to sense remorse, to cry for mercy, to sit looking statuesque: those internal pictures, this interior uneasiness, while faced with mortality: as never a tear, but more like a river, so curious, so undressed, by such resistance….

…such silent blueness, such mauve highlights, so picturesque, so educationally violent: so creative at moments, so attuned to melancholy, received and receiving: our pulled senses, our trampolines, our desirous apparatus: to suggest a feeling, to give way, to relax in frantic dialogues: so re-pictured, so church guilty, so removed from our imaginations: so cured with knowledge, so fraught by new possibilities, while sworn to examine propositions: so tedious flame, so thought-filled agony, so tempted to go left: those musical channels, this musical city, our musical yearnings: at noisy wells, willing our insistence, at something too clever to adhere by: this need for pain’s honesty, this want for literary existence, at something subtle but jealousy: so awakened with presence, so attuned to reality, so encharge, with such a need to reappear: so deep in mire, so muddy but clean, where showers seem disappointing: this web of fashions, those new suits, while anguish seemed polite….

…so between feelings, so carefree and repented, so reserved and captured: such intimate inhibition, at impasse and shivers, at fire and remorse—so delighted to sing, so reluctant to compose, while one-to-one correlations seem daunting: at such a need, while to imagine reality, our minds are growing rapidly: those city sights, this inner musicality, this need for existence: our days have evolved, our ancient ways are quaint, plus, existence is quite unforgiving, with such a stigma: this mental war, this mental observance, while forced to fly: according to rules, unless outlawed, while we need a terrific passion…those ageless curiosities, this ageless friend, this complete acceptance: such by excitement, if but receptive, while so driven to write prose: this fury through decades, this enhanced dialogue, such acute self-knowledge: allusions but hermetic, feelings but longing, expression so parted in its delivery: our sadder songs, our delighted essence, where we find our niche and begin to exist….

We make our home; We modify our silence; so awakened by cravings, so aloof to pursuing, or abandoning our restraints: our group laws, this interior mechanism, our parent’s voices: so re-captured, so aesthetically inclined, while desires appear plurality: those gifted, civilized, and mosaic creatures: those interior monsters, such rash resistance, running a tragic risk: as needed for freedoms, but insulted for freedoms, or such drastic, deteriorating reputations: our crazed society, desiring something exhilarating, while forcing chastity, and disappointed with such conundrum.   

Reframed by Escapes

…such liquid fire, such resonant flame, so conditioned, so silent, such a wreck: those feral flowers, assisted by heart-tremors, so conscious concerning our bias: patent loses, rehearsed history, so relived, so gentle when obeyed: those moving skies, those immovable skies, so dried out, so contagious: to rethink passion, so long a lost day, so seated with abuses: our miracle fevers, our cuticle airwaves, such by nutshells or bolts: this fleeing wilderness, those favorite thoughts, so featured embodied in features: those irony bars, this irony character, while influenced to remain tender: our vacant souls, so assaulted by life, so green, so lost, so involved: as maniac creatures, enlove with thoughts, while imagined as ruby blue marmosets: this soul agreeing, while fire is stirring, to imagine such passion increasing with seconds: immoveable fire, immoveable adolescence, so found in déjàvu—this trefoil of loyalty, this frantic assessment, where action seemed irrelevant: for hearts glow, such glittered to deaths, where it hurts to adore with clarity: such frequent mind-aches, such deadly music, re-found, re-skied, so close to hell’s castles: our removed senses, this person so geared, while actuality needs this literary passion: at tears and mistakes, at love and chaos, while thrown so involved with adoring Us: those fragments, this friction, so frightened of getting ruined—those cavalier eyes, those shattered voices, at vocals so removed from bodies: our ancient mishap, those ships closer to shorelines, where days agree with fantasies: our crucial arc, this florid decoration, so close to reliving something imaginary: at prints and faces, at science and religion, so turned, so deceased, defying laws engrained….

I saw fever—those early ashes, knitted for framed: I thought to shivers, something by gentility, so musing her caves: at deep extraction, or deeper removed, so sullen a kiss needing its picture: at tyranny’s island, those astronaut eyes, while scratching until blood trickles: this offset soul, solicited by interior demons, at such a soft sell: our minds so different, our bodies so enslaved, as needing particular excuses: if but to touch, if but to perish, while reborn, reliving, re-rioted: those tales about fire, this flame by tales, or this tiny experience those trenchant remarks: at deep slants, or treacherous courage, while a man reverses his first repent: this locket bleeding, this feeling seduction, while removed from Love and angry to die: as lost but forgiven, or told those cries, while Love adores living in pluralities: this cousin-voice, this granduncle malaise, while arms to life agreeing at mademoiselle—those turpentine drums, this Clorox assassination, so bleached, so rhythmic, so candescent: our childhood chaperone, our grandparent advice, those terrified but new emotions: this film our guts, this purple, pleasant, imaginative mistake: at torn poetry, relived in cadence, such flame, this tiny fire: at mental rebukes, at treacherous charges, while livid but alone, revived but insisted, restructured in forecasted, illusory screams!  

There’s a Desk mid our Desert

We lose senses, so romanticized, about something intolerable: we effect others, such delicate creatures, to gaze upon and feel disenchanted: this friction nature, this kitchen of sceneries, those rustic, ritualized, and robust habits: such drops towards deaths, such risings into heavens, our women, our children, those intimate dungeons: to laugh with sins, encouraged towards sainthood, so many years as intimate strangers: to need exaggeration, to cleave to honesties, while we become multiple characters.     I met science, so misperceived, where past hassles cloud assessment: to need something goodness, while needing something raunchy, if but this angel our intimate, unrelenting, even determined loyalties: as chaste monsters, if but this soul, while realized as requesting impossibilities: our dispositions, our trifle reigns, so closed in, so open, or such contradiction: this ruler by seduction, at something judging life, where Love mistook a gentle sentence: becoming hostile, even alert, where intentionality was never investigated: as sensitive, educated, artsy creatures: so struck by passion, so free to dance, while hung for thrown, dangling by intellectual nooses: but Love was humble, by countenance energies, so strong, so weak, so inclined to argue submissively: so temperamental, so deeply both, this religious/anti-religious sparrow: I met a mongoose, carrying father, adorned by mother, and longing our grandparents deaths: so chiseled with time, so systematic, aging accordingly: a few drugs, but nothing major, while sentenced to an addict’s disposition: this professional knowhow, this razzmatazz, those pints, this sentence—at casual disdain, highly opinionated, while reserved, just enough, as not to arouse a railing offensive: such intake, such normality, but actions are premeditated and rules are cemented in amygdalas: while a nuisance to many, a prize to some, if but heartless, medieval, determined longevity.     I stray at minds, sensing something remarkable, carrying a fist full of animosities: while beneath stature, analyzing stature, so greeted by regular disposition: as nothing added, but all seemed subtracted, while I never cried, Interests: this old dungeon, this new reflection, attempting to escape this caregiver: so purposed with thoughts, so alive with indifference, assuming passion comes deliberately: this false claim, this something dancing, where a person is yanked internally: such traffic lights, this red dynasty, this green happenstance: at yellow intermission, sung for thoughts, alive and gunning: such silence this vest, such innocence rekindled, where art seemed inappropriate: such cadence, so far advanced, such a creature or monopoly: those sensitive energies, this sensitive theses, while she adored perfection: this arête creature, this intimate journal, so casual, so inclined, while passion came in sequences: a few years to play, a few years to career life, a few years into marriage: a child singing, a mother giggling, so intrigued by culture.

We divest fiction, or cleave ever, thereto, while involved in long sung indifferences: this overstimulation, this underestimation, while Love would linger afar: our sight-range, our wrangle-range, this perimeter loyalty: for deep closeness insists, where one fights insanity, while body-memory tugs against logical assessments: our years so delicate, our lives so plural, our political stature so postmodern: at practical concerns, somewhat spiritual machines, built for cultic indoctrination: our blessed insights, our everlasting hostilities, while, plainly put, it is difficult to maintain full attention: as needing destination, our ten year plan, while overlooking old liaisons: this brain-war, this chess-piece, this overture claiming friendship: those difficult ideals, this bending willow, where two are vying over training wheels.

…such anti-morals, semi-jealousies, and quasi-friendships: so at grace, those delicate ways, this fever rushing, this inrush of happiness: to have that feeling, where envy is challenging, while most are susceptible to language: it was never there, but insulation planted thoughts, while now lovers are at arms: those mental weapons, this dragon insistence, at tigers and snakes and monkeys: such cryptic investment, such casual bongs, where offense took its measure: our forgiving hearts, or never for deaths, this and that as always protected: those penetrating rockets, this socket of apparitions, while inclined to share embarrassments: our bloated suspicion, our earth shattering connection, while minds dictate sky-pressure: so affected by years, so effected in seconds, where one is affectionate through impulses: our Hosier memoirs, our deep concerns, while rereading certain poets: as men gunning, or women Reloading, so steep in this vast expanse: those cheetah instincts, this meerkat affection, while petting our ferrets….

Knitted Metals

…wide asleep, or sound insanity, so pictured, so captured, so engrained—such courage, speaking malaise, so tragic, so dysfunctional, pretending normalities: silent disdain, through ecstatic smiles, plus, this need to vomit: such shocked nerves, those silhouettes grieving, our shadows entertaining: as never this rain, so chained to disorder, reknit, a new partner, plus, old habits: so unreasonable, protected by irrationality, while insisting Jenny is normal: those odd temperaments, this tent wilderness, this glass of beer: so indebted, at wisdom laws, while chaos restores faith: at silent grimaces, or valiant grudges, so awkward, or ghastly, or plain crazy: so vacuumed, such remorse, at someone new: this rich politeness, this exterior camouflage, roaming this city of greenhorns: at fire and flame, so fair but declining, replaying this movie of admirers: but life was normal, collecting memories, making love, and experimenting: such salient attraction, such heaving strangers, while thoughts were insync: so oversaturated, so familiar, at climatic forests: so softly sung, released from Tao, at large from mirrors….

I redial clumsiness—so encharge of nothingness, abandoned to principles: those dependent battles, clanging swords, where justice becomes a casualty: this need for newness, by insufferable gates, where some discolor others: that reaching thrill, this initiation, while many are livid: to appear dismayed, in utter disarray, as one realizes dementias: such activity bodies, thrown for thrust and seeping into passion—those meadow moons, but never a sound, while screaming such deaths: interior sutures, interior trauma, where newness displaces ruins.

…so terribly scarred, while father condones pain, where something needs redemption: this religious life, our religious dams, where humans behave as beavers: by several twigs, this chasing mirror, barricaded at four angles: hopping for sight, running without avail, while shunned by interior: those operations, those impatient lovers, while seeking newness: such insane reality, so encharge of despair, while horizons are hiding: those crowded beds, this crowded loneness, at fire and music and treacherous whiplash: while others die, enlove with self-sabotage, some are running with their scars: this life of disorder, this ability to blame, while mother is proud of this miracle: those shimmering rubies, such manicured insistencies, while never at wrongness: ever those people, ever this story, seated with newness while seeking newness….

…to remember such sweetness, so enveloped by games, so charged by something fantastical: our gregarious bodies, our needs for redemption, living so Grecian free: so near to dying, abandoned to flesh, so burned, so churned, so discarded: this absolute zoo-war, this incredible, uncouth feast, while disposed to claim absolute purity: this tale we need, this woman with bars, our ability to remove metal: as longing souls, every person as a parent, such mutual satisfaction: one needing to rescue, while another needs a rescuer, this exchange of counseling: our souls for replete monsters, our minds itching, so ruined, so enlove, chasing newness: this raging dysfunction, this parental approval, where we ignore anything reflective: that reflexive body, such deep wounds, where magic appears as justice: paying for rituals, laughing at miracles, ablaze’d for cursed feeling holy: this justice with allocation, our shared reservoirs, our fountains seasoned with dysfunction: our gripes and jibs, anon so driven, where too much time was spent repenting: plus, disclosure, this fool’s paradise, where one should ruin those soon to leave: such teleology, designed to destroy, at war with rationality: this man omitting, this woman omitting, so chaste and lovely, so virile and protective, while both are knitting scales….            

Un-drop a Dungeon

I image self, so addicted to life, a plaintiff by concerns: this lawyer laughing, pretending for money, accusing self of vicious lucre: our grinning havens, this cut existence, at love spent for ruined: to hate his guts, to trust in violence, rewound for terror this Judah Capital: such blood-work, such treacherous honesty, while adored by myriads: so spliced, such gorilla patience, as splashed with holy doses: those women, tearing his guts, while mother appeared her eyes: to wander afar, to zoom into chaos, this pool, this demon, this unforgiving maniac: so appeased, so forgiven, where white overrules color: such scribbling, such knit pain, to sigh at light-posts: so suspended, lingering in missives, so blatant, so ostracized: at stitched remorse, while hating such dependence, at sheltered horizons: those spoils, meant for alliteration, where similar thoughts extract courage: at twists and turns, at teasing and terse, so tempted and tested, looking forward to such cadence: so relaxed while seething, such sullen hemispheres, to reach and reign, as one too mad for science: this doctor, this perception, while many are adverse to leaders: those bowels running, this toilet choking, this life an exact region: such consumers, to purchase a case of happiness, tormented by interior activity.

…we bleed passion, an agent of mercy, and almost a human: this field battle, this real dilemma, while discovered a second in time: those eyes gunning, those analyses speaking, where a man was forced to survive: this magazine hospital, this magazine booklet, at torture and terror and un-tragic: such magic pulling, our mental policies, where it felt for moments a loyal warzone: such scenery, while spoiled, but Love adored where Love was nonchalant: those statements crying, such bucolic landscapes, such broccoli, steak, and cocaine dinners: our first task, our last channel, but life seemed what it appeared: our benefits, our close parachutes, at cameras rehearsing particular nuances: this running madness, this shunning closeness, while one realizes a certain need: our central points, our false democracy, while pillars endear loyalties: those bold caves, this trenchant baptism, while so many secrets were yet to endure: such federal glass, such industry education, while one becomes this mental news: so brief, so enchanted, so melancholic: those fields, this slight push, while it felt good to override a professional….

…those cedars winking, this chest-war balloon, at travesty concerned with tyrannies: our roles as rulers, our speech so false, those treacherous eyes, that muddy mouth, or that sickening aura: so slimy, so dead, while hating purity: so drenched in hells, so benighted by thoughts, and such a writer of fiction: but life is miracles, while I’ll never submit, because souls tricked are without purity: this friction in webs, this meal with adversaries, while one adored a losing concern: our bungalow water, our shared ponds, while one fell for Love: this fool gunning, while forcing matters, where mystics stood and caved for lucre: those cynosures, this sin-castle, or prying so deeply one became his feature: this daughter lose, this daughter war, while daughters are asking serious questions: those minds meditating, or certain overseers skeptical, while a free-thinker is both hated and admired: this deviation, as good for daughters, while many are plotting a cage: at granny losing, at grandpa losing, at mother as if dead to existence: while many are thinking, realized in truths, to imagine this woman’s heart….

[…] I image self, so delicate, so battled, so deceased while outliving self: this fire, this tiny spark, as aloof to losing: this wild, sophisticated woman, this wretched, innocent attempt, where death was so appealing we turned her out: so fugacious, so trenchant, such a loser needing this winning mystic: to deign so lowly, to accuse our ghettoes, while mother was pure exonerated: so cussed-out, so bear-won towards living, while taverns sold out a night ago: at Love rehashing, at something I need, if but to become this incredible author: moreover, a scar, at graves but tombs, re-knitting Jesus upon our veranda: this whispering credenza, this raging cadenza, so gilt for purity but existence destroyed its saints: this metal armoire, this mental-spirit narration, while so afar I feel minds closer: at tuxedo prose, at smoky cloves, so trefoil’d for gunning at Love adored for retreating: smiles haunted; pains magical; or an older woman meditated upon actions: so caved in, at tremor cries, while it was good to imagine: our black textbooks, our white arrivals, so cut for wretched and living goodness.

     

Trichotillomania

…unfurl Cleopatra, while aiding little Jenny, for both are snatching patches: such revoked persons, such rejected humans, so silenced, so loud, such deep bloody screams: at fatherly demons, or motherly trespasses, so cursed and adored for smiling: our brows bleeding, our tongues growing spines, so casual with essence: such opulent fun, such burgundy homes, at windows committed to hospitals: this blue shiver, this red dynasty, while Jimmy just committed suicide: our children under pressure, our snuggles mortal reasons, if but a steak boiled in feelings: at cures for seconds, so wrecked, so entrenched, while music seemed unthreaded: such classical literature, peering into Octavia, so Roman, so deceased, so wretched: this plight in details, this woman’s nerves, our scars pleading insanity: so many miles, listening to Caesar, at ships and oarsmen—longing for something destroying our strongholds: while Suzie gouges flesh, and Lenard plucks membranes, so casual about molestation: this grown embodiment, those ribs with vinegar, while true religion protects our foster homes….

I see it dying, this brutality, this kingdom by violence: at torn concerns, such rapid body heat, such trenchant fire: this list of chores, this old harlot friend, while many cannot love: our roots broken, our emotions overly stimulated, where a nine year old is snagging a cigarette: such grown language, such schoolgirl intolerance, while Jesus seems unhurried: so distracted, experiencing urinary tract infections, where mother appears restricted: so many hairs, so many reasons, while purple seems too perfect: this gut, this seven year old mistake, where one becomes a driven machine: so robotic, so uncultured, while oddities seem appropriate: our rehab nation, our addict warriors, while raising a winning battle: (this flippant in-brain, this flippant sky-god, while reality points at both: this trench coat, those tile tears, while a rose grew by horrors: those murderous cities, this maniac detained, this psychopath at waters: our baptized features, our stunted for structured but deceptive psychs: this thin mechanic, as sliced in halves, where we determine those deceits that seem viable: those propositions, this man gunning, this bullet sunk in a nightmare: that fatal blast, as distorted his guts, this wound, this fleeing, this captured sleep-night: to die with passion, to adore a harlot, where women are asking for permission).

…we eat behavior, so dead and grinning, while life is running: built for psychotics, this rare disposition, while adored hells fall incapable: our black science, this Monroe daymare, while thrust’d into quarters: this tiger pendulum, this lion hexagram, or this bobcat telephone: at texts by in-guts, at war with wall-nuts, so cursed, so cured, while psychs are livid with potentiality: this bandage game, this ignorance game, or something a bit too intimate to explain: at river gates, or firehouses, at firebrand and feelings: those remorse islands, this clump of scalp, while Jimmy appeared as an apparition: this eight year old, seated in this den, a pair of cigars and a glass of gin: using pains, struggling over heroin, this red nose, this bloody inkling, while screaming uncontrollably: those boxed rooms, this psych at questions, this room filled with heinous activity: our small bodies, this raging lunatic, this rapid infection: asked for normality, asked for patience, while something needs to ravage a nightmare….

Introspective Ribs

We carry mazes, searching by binoculars, our phones answering quietly—our wires alert, our minds sifting, at cares, concerns—so blurry: we become nonchalant, this space for survivors, our feelings gated neatly: semi-sensitive, maneuvering iron, captured by photographs: peering at nonsense, so counseled by behaviors, relocated at sudden points: beauty is absent, where beauty is present, so I deny you to protect self: our rejected worlds, our flowers wilting, our souls carrying boulders: at black insistence, ruined by something indicative, while forgetting this competitive race: chasing song, effaced and wronged, while rebuilding this coping image: so salvaged, picking innocent peaches, stirring repetitive behaviors: those liquid pomegranates, those discolored emotions, while realized as a cool headed, unfeeling agent: our deep talismans, those carried defenses, while reality needs those choices: this person for others, this person for some, while harboring particular insecurities: so concerned with nuance, where we must line up, else hell is sold as heaven: at sudden moods, our bodies decoding our nerves, while Love has read and reread Naïve: our cherry sodas, this small Danish, or so alarmed by misbehavior: this winking sky, this blinking wall, so dearly impressed by camels: those nerve-endings, this relaxed bobcat, while it felt silly to fantasize: our in-mind dynasties, our in-heart palaces, such polish, such missing links: our pegs shimmering, our cries misread, our bodies thrown to icy fires: our private dreams, our dry flesh, so rewound and sold for dreams: those indoctrinations, our maneuvering selves, while many are fitted without prior notation: (so relaxed but edged, so concerned but indifferent, so at life feeling familiar: this city of tension, those rare encounters, while many men have fallen for faces: such screams, such realization, while lunacy is blamed upon art: to re-sense eyes, to discern through a smile, while becoming something cold: this life alteration, our souls suffocated, our brains yelling at thoughts: this vineyard of grapes, this barefoot damsel, while believing in this possible intoxication: so unfamiliar, so lit with fire, so gone, so with needs: our trapeze, those whispering gates, so sealed, so new with inversion, our best challenging something murky: those reflective thoughts, this reflexive self, at haste to display this considerate person): or back to indifference, so restructured by repetitiveness, so at war with blunt encounters: as power is harvested, or souls are vying, while authenticity is both challenged and demeaned: (we operate accordingly, we play chess according to rules, we dance according to movements: such religiosity, this instruction through numbers, this intellectual map: those green leaves, those defined horizons, or better, our letters bend accordingly: so passionate in private, so ecstatic in private, or so practical in society: those immovable blocks, this persistent water, while land is sodden and soggy): other sayings, this hard-won resistance, while one must entertain resilience: those misprints, this duplicate culture, our ties so tight, those heals, those veins, or more to comportments: but structure for dreams, and life for determination, so threatened by potentiality….

…so many mistakes, this training field, so barricaded by interior operations: or liberated by rules, or liberated through persons, while often unbeknownst to agents: we engage nature, while observing so little, as moved by a slight realization: we hear partially, we react before full pictures, while often apologizing: we numb feelings, we numb inhibitions, we enjoy particular misthoughts: we shift at seconds, we sing inclusiveness, while praying for exclusivity: those intrepid doubts, those beginning frustrations, or this churned captivity: looking for something majestic, while wresting about longevity, or ill-informed about maintaining majesty: those cold mornings, this sober feeling, as tires spin: settled in behaviors, our examination of others, while mirror-clarity seems obscure: this set by thoughts, those images by self, this particular air—as brains travel, while reality seems to clash, those interior precepts: such concrete loses, while pushing this carcass, designed by behaviors: to wonder deeply, concerning this person, while souls are re-suited: at something impossible, dearly at skies, while sensing this lot in man: (those abstract exercises, this abstract college, or realized in relativism: while negotiation is plural, while intelligence negotiates, where ignorance suffers while flourishing): our beings soaring, speeding through experiences, plus, this tussle with melancholia: at something sweeter, at interior dictates, while becoming mentors: at remorse and sin, studied and found, so misprinted, searching for iron, finding joy in abstracts….