…such adoration, such
flitting and flying and kites and symbolism: at arts and aesthetics and smiles
and deaths: so emphatic, so apathetic, so
rich, so cataphatic: at rivers into
oceans, at red ridges, at bridges that burn and churn and explode: at beige
rain, at tormented yearnings, so authentic, so lost, so found in conversation:
to feel ecstatic, or so christic, filled with numen and draperies and pleats:
so cussed-out, so low, answering a distant phone: that ringing, this plight, or
better, this wretched complex: so enlove, feeling falderal, while chiseled for
next Christmas: those inner telegraphs, this relaxed voice, so languishing,
such languor, so calm, complete, and insecure: our brains, Love, our guts
emphatic, at something so precious, so provocative, plus, a man dies for such
wombs: this bleeding enterprise, this temperament laughing, as sudden, a
detriment to humankind: our dead-zones, our twilights, our Greco-orientation:
this feudal librarian, this casual approach, those lieutenant professors: this real,
relaxed, and raging aura: those blank feelings, as Love knits reality, while we
never fully fathom: thrown for ruined, needing acceptance, while friendly and
cut and dying: this pistol kiss, those pistol eyes, while never fully owned:
this sick man, at needs to master, at needs to control, while I said it with
fire: this canon, this camera, those flippant excuses: those arguments, this
field, as alive but mother keeps appearing: this drug-hat, this sick
adolescent, so grown, so attuned, but dying a frozen son: to carry disgrace, to
adore this misery, while but a glance: this sick poetry, this sick pistol, at
guts and loving this mystic pistol: to die with pride, to relive with angst,
while afraid to meet her face: this small universe, this angry universe, this
angry wine: at something Sade, or better, Johansson, while adored for estranged
from Africa: this Muslim feud, this satori
undercurrent, at Sufis such major prophetic(s): those Candace eyes, so crystal
alertness, while threshed for behaved searching for disobedience: so wand-like,
so precious, at tears dripping into tennis shoes: those tropic inclinations,
this driving lunatic, at cures and scars fleeing into an audience….
…those
cryptic caves, this yonic passion, or tears so delicate, so honest, while Love
felt deceased: such puce behavior, so
inclined to witness, as Love displays deep insecurities: this carnival ride,
this person drawing near, while lies became a sudden foundation: our dreary
hearts, our lively hearts, as never wishing to retreat: if needing notice, I’ll
love and adore until heaven breaks: this ruby so there, this cure so afar,
while minds know synaptic gaps: our psychs blatant, our rhythm secular, at Love
like a priest: so authentic, so graced, where husbands realized Inception: those dead ghettoes, this
dead cousin, as affected and changed inter-those-brains: this intra-lunatic,
this intra-maniac, while so behaved running through magazines: to witness such
beauty, to need such pollution, while, nonetheless, an outlaw immortal: gunning
at targets, reserved enough to sense, while something bubbles into freeness: this
prow-war, this helm-war, while Love was shocked at potentiality: this lower
ship, this submarine, so subtle, so realized, so sanctioned: at bishop tiles,
while mother was abused, as given this son a conscience: this warzone, this
battleship, while treading whales and dolphins—this tread into deserts: our
wolf-brains, our telephonic agonies, at Love searching for new locations: so
enthralled, so white, such interior ambivalence: as needing acceptance, as
designed to perish, while Love adored a black man: so tense with patience,
admonished for misspeaking, while frustrated became flustrated: this red line,
this red river, at Rosario panting: so cursed for action, so impassioned for
thirty minutes, while gutted for losing where pain became its cinema: those
broken brackets, those bruised hips, or this feeling like life is good: such
bronze and brine, such raging atmosphere, so ambivalent, so mis-liked, at
curses but feeling Jesus: this warm heart, those solemn thumps, where
psychiatry possesses monopoly: at tremors wafting, at cages rattling, or so
snaked-out it becomes cockiness: if but to relate, if but this one encounter,
while souls are treacherous for rare women: our grannies’ warnings, our mothers’
push, while father dismissed trepidation: this gut-wire, this gut-phone, while
many are claiming a stranger’s existence!
