It becomes liquor,
too much to sing, too diluted with cigars: this blood work, this funeral arc, at
something incredibly wrong: to walk on sin, to deliver pride, to catch zero
illumination: this fool lightning, or Asian Power, so evolved, so sacrificial:
this blue Princess, this raven daughter, or granny on mother’s side: this
relish pensive, this pickle hardcore, as saying something nonsensical: those
noetic seconds, to fuel with violence, or typing as tears well: those sockets
dropping, this mechanic leaping, or too much pressure for lesbians: trying so
delicately, dying so secretly, at mystic cygnet about more politeness: this
husband watching, this maniac calmness, so cursed, so ruined, and so blessed:
as pushing traffic, rolling on Venice, to remember a time so blind to chaos:
this old memory, this old resolution, this fool so in charge of losing: those
Asian grins, that hidden pistol, those railing laughs: as more infected, or
more delighted, this black face, those shining eyes
as built for flowers, this
intricate, do for death, this Atlantic maze: so born for infatuation, over
something imperfect, over something those codes so incredibly low: this
Hennessey, this mixture, thrust’d for patience sipping gin: as sliced for
trash, this interior keystone, running from police: this fence gunning, this
roof moving, this street remote to Hoover: hiding identity, this psych, those
dens, this coyote: at lions for Judah, at neck tattoos, or so warm, so
inflamed, such fire those waters: those sprinkles, this therapist, as sensing
human spirits: at blood gravy, at haven hearts, so enchanted by physicality:
such hailstones, such brimstones, placating a box of nicotine: so removed, so
dead, and, plus, arrested for hanging high: those millions spent, those wheels
riding, this pint, this lap, those televisions: if but to die, those few texts,
to awaken wondering where God is at: such reckless bounties, this detective
game, where God knew identity.
…those demanding
dreams, those remanded screams, so court-like, and such a wolf’s nose: this
pardon, this fever, those relaxed, sophisticated lionesses: at something
terrible, this hunt for mercies, or those ribbons colored in hazel, such
sinful, such remorseful, California eyes: too easy to die, too hard to live, at
pain, victory, and a mother’s ashes: this life freaking me, this daughter so
delicate, this mother, my bowels, this grandfather, my dues: to improve life,
to gut abandonment, to pause for Yahweh: this heart for fire, this daily rule,
this Jesus Juice: so mystic, so trembled, at moves pondering a Mason Angel: at
cuts and scars, those deliberate outbursts, as sensing intelligence: this
crafty, snakelike creature—those rolling vines, at sky-dribble and deceased:
this flannel game, this flammable exchange, where passion seems validated: herewith,
those pale scales, this interior movement, to need something but curious….
I caught a summons,
it was lively, I approached with acrobatics: this usher woke up, this lady
cried, this daughter hugged me: this mother was elated, this stepfather dropped
a bail, at lose, incredible slaughter: those red roses, this tulip affair, this
angry ass loser: so filled and gutted, this zip of killer, at an old friend
apologizing: this deceased, those
problems, this fuel an old ally: this Malibu revving, this Chevy Impala, this
first time encounter: serving maniacs, doped out, fleeing through Crenshaw: at
mid-motion, granted a pass, while a caravan was swollen: our dreams in
eclipses, our thunder upon Mars, at Neptune women: so floored for alive, so
gassed for thriving, while lyrics erupt proving his brains: so lost, so gone,
so at mercies: to sense his guts, to hear his heart, to wonder for slavery:
those old allies, this old ruby, so cursed for evolved, at dice like a madman.
