…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…!
