…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….
