Upon clouds

…those chains rattle, they clangor, a man running into dungeons: those thin escapes, as we must return, and, notwithstanding, something is impaired: so much in absence, thrilled to flee, so crowded, and captured by those reflections: carpet reminders, mirror symposiums, at symphonies for addicts: so somber at times, leveled at mediocre, where too much excitement becomes nervous exhilaration: but days are moving, where love is present, while one feels anxious:

I wonder about normality, if it exists, and what it feels like: if it’s an absence of sadness, if not, how much—where happiness is a chief principle: internal rides, outward behaviors, plus, sheer joy: while most are indifferent, an offshoot of melancholy, where most are pessimistic….

I fiddle a memoir, I reread passages, I ponder and reappear: I look at dressers, I wander gaps, at some type of emotion: I perk up in public, but not of my doing, for something operates a bit at stealth: I re-dress a feeling, I think far too much, while an old friend said it’s impossible: but life has goodness, through this yearly maze, where past behavior becomes internal vehicles: this chase for perfection, while one is watching, and accustomed to repeating, I know of you: so much this passage, and too far that passage, while one strengthens resilience: looking at persons, stalking my sensations, or alone a living room speaking internally: so many choices, so much left unshared, while we need interesting souls.

…we chastise inhibition, while becoming useable, where good times appear mechanic: we flee through boredom, occupied by fancies, or close to one’s soul: we do this or that; we resume our states, while something permanent seems to linger: this internal apex, this conscious seriousness, where we build habits to occupy presence: a good book, an imaginative journey, while stitching something that appears changeable: our years at life, our months in college, at certain familiarities: those trips to museums, those dining nights, or this wrestle with gaining weight: so much in souls, so dearly complex, while disappointed that such and such didn’t figure us out….

We’re clean cut, at least in this instance, avoiding certain habits: those islands we travel, this wild behavior, where we return to this first space: while age is creeping, aches are near, our memberships are up for renewal: those cosmetic surgeries, this forced insistence, while strangers are ignored but we need their admiration: our meals with juice, our minds with music, or this thin layer which generates lusts: this human sodium, those human gravies, at thoughts generating actions: to cross paths, to laugh and giggle, to sing silently: at thrust’d hearts, at a need for longevity, so close, so fashioned, so again!

…some souls stitch magic, they feel balanced, while presence pushes its agenda: they sing opera, they purchase art, they support charities: they buy vegetables, they raise kids, they work a good job: so endearing at times, so deep in thought, where trumpets are shared: they dine in dialogue, they further education, they laugh and take courage and tackle disapproved behaviors: they make love, they become risqué, indeed, they function at high capacity: just a piece for me, just a dance for me, while Love is quite receptive: this line in men, this reversed feeling, this slogan, this song, this salvation: so revved to feel, attempting through artificial channels, while such have lost excitement: this thing in normality, while ever a giant, where certain behaviors become censored….

I’ve said little, while touching something pivotal, in essence, this wrestling presence: this seated index, this casual filmmaker, those internal movies: to need completion, while overriding insecurities, where a mere glance doesn’t churn our intestines: our desire for music, our needs for magic, while we require internal intimacy: our journalist’s eyes, our compassion for children, our requirements for newness: in such a distant world, this intimate world, while wrestling particular receptors: as masculine/feminine plants, requiring fertilization, plus, those few dispositions needing water: our affectionate selves, our working selves, plus, our relaxers.        

Hourglass Confession

…somewhat startled, even unfastened, at this vague impasse: it dies with fevers, it trembles with flame, untamed, radiant, and debating air….     …an overflow of cringing, a flippant disposition, at clearance to exist: those deeper spirits, those fluffy flowers, at destiny encouraged to resist: our measured interactions, our daughters fleeing or flying or fraught by firebrand: those shattered walls, Love, this city of debris, or this existential lagoon: at movie instincts, arranged to believe in characters, where something written becomes actuality….

It becomes protective—our defensive indifference, our ideals, our wishes, our idyllic mansions: to believe in compassion, or to live love, at symbols suggestive of something capturing: those interior songs, this mental angst, prattling and pandering, so lost, looking into sky-wells: falling into space-hives, so fueled to live, where something continues to boar into conceptions: those adder lenses, this cobra’s anxiety, those scorpion tails: as losing music, so whelmed by silence, beckoning impervious mercy.

I felt overwhelmed, debating those futures, at dreams and vision, but alienated from sensation: this cruel creature, this genetic intrusion, our baseline tormentor: but terror was so precious, this infant swan, where something was absent: those bubbly intensities, that dare to live existence, so casual concerning something permanent: those short legs, those loving arms, while becoming indoctrinated: our burning candle, those fluffy tendencies, our acting becoming its nausea: at once, impassioned, that first time, thereafter, a swan was born: but hell was lurking, a man to his kitchen, a small blue terminator: so exhausted, so sliced into pieces, while unsaid luggage became a contestant.

…those alluring indecisions, while needing Batman, but capes were a trillion dollars: to lose something detached, where another intervenes, realizing it’s too concerned to retreat: those life rafts, dragging souls, where loyalty is rich: our apocalyptic, our Revelation, where granny realized something temporal: such spacial distance, such achieving distance, so close, so involved, plus, a stream of fluids: something pictureless, something invisible, as, nonetheless, something compelling: so many mind-portraits, accursed riches, where something indebted became a furious adversary….

I remember us—so inclined, so competitive, so reversed from normal: so hard to outlive—something embedded, but years appear fruitless: a castle upon plastic, a door made of hay, or adoration built upon feathers: those delicate hands, those small features, at once, an inspiration to something dying: this goodness in men, about this furious soul, which brings existence to spirits: plainly put, a woman drives a man, where he performs for Love, their glory runs wild in their children: notwithstanding, something was quenched, where fire was required, while both blamed profanities: our losing arcs, our ruptured cakes, so at mercy, where others participated: such grueling pressure, so alive but crucial, at sad thoughts: while men vied, at deeper complaints, but reality crashed our spaceship: as once so giddy, those sexual tears, this cry for something supportive: those variegated rainbows, those intense seconds, such fury in the eyes of sorrowing souls: as architects, so desperate a keepsake, while violating what we strove for—this infuriating loneness, or rage from closeness, while something becomes pitiful inside: a locket by dreams, so sounded in screams, so desperate to avoid a pass mishap: at such a beautiful figure, such wailing insanity, while our souls felt astray: those connecting planets, if but honest composure, our souls in cellars: outrageous intimacy, while needing elation, or this dire desire to extract power: that furious sward, those furious intensities, so eclectic, so in that minute, so wild a nature: our fatal fatigue, this fatal island, where most become quite disimpassioned: such earlier days, such animals surviving, at such rich entitlement: those trancelike seconds, those claw-like nails, or fangs digging causing interests: these days are different, boundaries are higher, our minds are conscious: our guts are cynical, deeper passion causes a challenge, with so much tugging at minds: those hapless times, those hypnotic disappointments, or this relational tempo: while something churns, re-scraping our interior chamber, and flooding our sanctums: a bit of new music, a mystique feeling, at deeper clarity.    

Natural Behavior

…something incorrigible, those wandering cries, so angular, so rectangular, at foreign escapes: those Portugal eyes, those African lips, or such Italian ecstasy: as a dreaming machine, so frantic our lies, so indebted our harbingers: at something spacial, our souls about cosmos, where fire leaps, ignites, and radiates for hours: those power legs, embedded within a sullen heart, fleeing but captured, or captured but presiding: if but an antidote, if but freedom, while life is enslaved by ecstasy: dripping steam, hot, moist texture, so abandoned, so at home: our wavering arcs, those insipid promises, but so felt, so dedicated when spoken: our aging wisdom, our Solomon minds, our Bathsheba sin: as men feuding, so close our circles, but Love and I had a brutal discussion: such rabid madness, in this league of souls, while Love is naked….

…indebted to circumstance, ignoring an interior compass, a bit temperamental about morals: our childlike antennas, so impetuous, so desired for ignorance: those deeper hunches, crocheted with crime, a bit irritated by those naked mirrors: mental bullfights, outlandish appetites, so gifted, so mature, but so alluring: this marvelous curse, this metaphysical movie, or this portrait for Neutrogena: as aborted survivors, crawling through sands, nearing something incredibly insane….

It lives gruesomely, and dies horribly, at wretched terror: as others disappearing, even those vying, while one stands upon our totem: this lovely dejection, this pyramid raciness, so evidential, so cryptic, at cultic exhaustion: an oceanic desert, debated in cultures, where a man turns to something loathed: this purported mischief, those purported preaching(s), while one is labeled as protesting too much: looking at something intimidating, catching a glimpse by configuration, while carrying on, nonetheless: polite banter, cozy remarks, even slight attitudes: as nothing quickly measured, while one is faintly measured, up and until, Love pops an infuriating ego: that flimsy gong, those flimsy thoughts, where, in actuality, Love is pressing for something more overt: a dying declaration, but men are impassive, while many are sure to protect imageries: this maniac fool, this lover of souls, this crazed Casanova: breaking through walls, risking life and spirit, if but one tryst with Incredible: for women are creators, living in deeper feelings, while needing adventure, life, and death: our manikin attraction, so neatly tucked, where months become quite irritating: too much thought of self, men must confess quickly, else, one is seen as a bit unsteady: this conundrum in chimes, this treacherous mistake, where love desires a need for resistance: those complicated creatures, those familiar creatures, while chess becomes a board for seduction.

…a few are close, this natural contemplation, this feudal interior: studying actions, of one too distant, where a chasm is screaming: it effects thoughts, it leads feelings, while, in reality, two are barely at meditation: those fierce persons, at fiercer electricity, while one has signed off: so observant in hindsight, so intricate at plain battles, while some gestures shouldn’t be analyzed: this impetuous space, or this thought about quality, where a man feels he never had a first appearance: at frantic cries, realized in something gentle, while some women pick and pluck and insulate self: an inseam, a thread knitted, a bolt tightened: while one is foolish, as confessing his need, while Love pretends not to fathom: in truth, a treacherous game, more so, a devious deed, where one must determine an action: such crying embarrassment, such crippling reluctance, where Love might say something: so green we live, so cautious we dance, while something too sure seems too genuine: indeed, this great riddle, needing surety, but longing for danger: it seems gray, it removes our sensibilities, while some women are pure seductresses….

Pottery Wheel

…we study women, those exotic features, so casual, so incredible, at interior eyes: at rug feelings, or fresher waters, abused by emotion: those new faces, those outlandish physiques, at crumbling frustrations: so pardoned, so crazed, such remarkable converse: but life is cosmic, those wretched ghosts, our viable deaths: a man gunning, this omen mirror, so shaved, so groomed, tapering an unsolvable monster: at family and friends and strangers and predicament: those collisions, this dungeon man, at existential remorse: feeling cursed, attempting to purchase goodness, so ashamed, so misguided, so easily confused: so much togetherness, so many years, at comforters, brighter cries, and ruminated tears: afflicted with disorder, speaking in gibberish, living iconic, or visiting psychs: severed, aching, but looking contained: our better outfits, our dressed sorrow, attempting to dislodge and graft into lovemaking: so unraveled, so close to God, so reckless and observed: needing something destructive, in order those homes, while children are running freely: at Kerry creatures, of Jewish rites, or attempting peace with Africa: mainly simulators, assimilating cultures, so structured, so edgy, while nonsense must be tolerated: falling for strange physiques, or aborted for negligence, while Love just needed a feel good explosion: our shadowed environments, our deeper dreams, if but an ideal brought to sing: those days at laughs, while peering at Incredible, to utter such feelings: assessing wombs, assessing worth, so cursed to fall like lightening: a number of dragons, this terror in leviathan, our aches, screams, features, and giggles….     We carry ominous, we structure in vanity, so manipulative, so partly hidden, while running naked: society watches, scorpions tread sand, but Love is gorgeous: those Versace glasses, those softer scents, at pure and natural gesticulations: or naively coquettish, at burgundy eyes, a bit animated, a bit unstructured: such rare creatures, laughing and carefree, while this process is nothing new: at harboring feelings, at repeating mistakes, so inclined to shift and forgive: so skilled, so filled with thoughts, and a bit anti-Paul: those nights in grief, those tell all friends, while gunning through exospheres: our blue moons, our orange suns, at stars and thoughts attempting to fly: our interior motion, those interior energies, as some seep into conscious souls: so polite, so eager for closeness, or so withdrawn, for nothing became a living proposition: this hope in retrievals, those unlocked instructors, such a courtesan for passion: those dearer pains, this sheared brain, so at terrors and glamour.

We desire nobility, so inclined to erase—this face of frustrations: feeding our whys, conversing seabirds, while something is bubbling: so distinguished in this, those children, those screams, or this long range agreement: such caricatures, such appearing cartoons, while Love has adored until fully familiar: our gumbo with passion, our feelings with violins, our guts, our music, this interior symphony: so gone, but jaded, living this contradiction: so pulled, so delivered, while Love has made him better: those soft grins, those flirtatious seating(s), so enlove with becoming a woman: this force, this gunning Cathedral, this uninhibited leader: this holy sinner, this dismissive violence, so captured, so addicted, while debating with Spirit: this conglomerate, those island insights, a bit upset with armchair queens: so brought to life, so exterior at times, while picking through facades: those feigned dreams, this frantic scream, those nails, this actress, those titillating sensations: so alive in sanctions, so sacred but lonely, so somber, so delicate: at sweeter dilemmas, at monstrous wars, while pulled by secrets: so un-revealed, but more so seen, while Love just obtained her M.A.: in this cruel, but faithful world, addressed as something destructive: so feared, so pliable, some willed, so serious: attempting at withdrawals, but ever precipitating, at something noticed: a more stern person feels every increment.   

Unstitching Numbness

   

I snatch a pardon, so interrogated, dismounted internally: so gutted, Soul, so alive, Soul, more to live for, Soul: our treasons, at robotic replies, walking civic havoc: so abused, so civil, at aches for mercy: such mythic greed, such Brutus ambition, so accursed, so heinously blessed: at Mary’s mind, or Mary’s grave, such weeping intermission: between sentences, reminiscent of rain, such atypical weather: at granny lately, rereading permissions, while souls are dying: our revving arcs, so attached to energies, so spilt in pieces: a strong wind, an avenue glen, at jagged rulers: if but to exist, so close to earth, our linguistic ‘transmitters: paced at ghettoes, pining for freedom, abusing interior dialogue: so far Sienna, re-versed in knowledge, getting closer to mirrors: such contradiction, so near, so hurt, and yearning for Mother.

I heard by ghosts, fleeing into makeshifts, so abandoned those months: looking into pavements, painting delirium, or skating mixed feelings: those spontaneous wigs, those industrious skies, at ritualistic science: our running existence, our acrobatic intensities, our salty oceans: at something pure, at purer rivers, so kleptic, this falling mid-core, at dreams concerning infinity: exotic meats, foreign delicacies, so stolen from reality: aquatic reactions, yawning responses, such behavior stipulating casual behaviors: our scorpion nightmares, our cobra allies, so involved, so nonchalant, at wars and dreams, wailing in Swahili.

…machinery grays, this hectic fog, and flogging Invisibility: such radical hostility, at immediate disgust, our under-cores distinguished by disbelief: our neuro-toxins, so afloat anxiety, at mental flork(s): to renew this life, to review this churn, an aviator of flares: such asylum frustration, at passionate spirituals, so maneuvered emotionally: to love a swan, to dance a fire, so desperate to re-exist….

…paint-stick magic, high-tech ambition, sensing something incredible: such Paris lusts, such Vatican Pride, so low, so radar, feeding and losing reality: those pinches, our first confession, our last miracle: ink-bristles, combing replies, plus, insidious affection: those chaining cuffs, those smaller tables, or this letter to Invisibility: at taller vexes, unnatural occurrences, and something deeper than concentration: so repented, so evolved, to sudden upon an empty room: rereading Sexton, listening to tea kettles, running amuck, those interior thought-fights….

…if we must die, than I must live, as something in pure fantasy: such bicycle angst, such bold calibers, while souls have lost this Great War: reclaiming Sherlock, or admiring Ingrid, while fawning over marbles: such animated trophies, such condescending admissions, alive playing our mocking guitars: taking breaks, at varicolored personalities, so opaline, so cloudy, while unlikely lucent: our dearer fulgence, our interviewed behaviors, our endless positions: as souls enlove, those redeeming high ladders, so fueled by resistance….      

Un-Erased

Let it devastate, if but to breathe, if but to lose conscienceness: those round barriers, this tipsy wind, so sober, such agony, and so redeemed: our bleeding intellects, our deconstruction, at postmodern graves: this inferior me, this lost dynasty, or those treacherous ass vices: those demons screaming, this omen laughing, so threatening, so nonchalant, so intractable: our kingdom with violence, Ahab re-sighted, so desperate to outshine Elijah: competing for favor, at blatant cries, our loins ashy from sackcloth: but Love is remarkable, and Love outwitted death, and gods are descending: so perky this inner voice, so crisp those whispers, while Love is concentrated deeply: this raging soul, this forgetful passion, while Jesus became Christ: this millennial Creature, over a trillion years, while exaggeration was immortal: our minds shunning, our guts explosive, our daughters to internal networks: this soul-vet, those rocket-cries, while a psych blew a goddess tornado: sparks flying, debris giggling, our earth churned asunder.

…buildings are stranded, our nucleus but examined, where we face a challenge: such stalwart pavement, sliced by cutters, our solid, but crumbling concrete: so adored in vision, so elegant in memories, so found so early: those years meaning something, our bodies responding something, our minds saluting their chiefs: such radiant friendship, such incandescent banter, our souls awakening for water: our cloves with ecstasy, our personhood with hooks, our union before her tribunal: such blurry lines, such deep fractures, so revved, so determined, so driven….

…accounted for but absent, present but dimly, appointed but un-adaptable: somewhere in his mind, exploring perfect pain, so apt, so unfortunate: those phantasms winking, those horizons dying, at something too crucial to accept: newborns speaking Egyptian, unconscious souls pitching brick, while he awoke in cold sweat….

I become distracted, even detached from self, I imagine streaming concentration: I feel a message, I feel conviction, but I sing something found unsophisticated: I know for arguments, but something is hissing, where something just arrived: at resurrection, that post-demise, appearing to angels: those tiny palms, those parted lips, while something is too deep to exhaust: at trust suddenly, while feeling located, while redeemed in operations: so unsaid, such interior hay, while searching for needles: such excellence, such oval features, such a kissing voice.

…it was a late night, mother was tired, but father was near: I slept soundly—knitted by Actifed, a series of mistakes: something gentle took place, a stranger spoke, a stranger disappeared: this life of trifles, those skiing beliefs, but brevity is such a demon….

…in truths I suppose, this world by adults, this foul atmosphere: at broken fevers, at stolen coins, while we return to others something incumbent: such running, Love, such infatuation, Love, while it’s so difficult to adjust a first impression: our blackened foresights, our opinions in reserve, but something has pinned the donkey: those attic banshees, this attic box, while carried upon such a small ladder: this cactus feeling, those sprouting faucets, while Moses was ostracized: this deductive dilemma, this deep permission, or this radical disenchantment: so glued to feelings, so moved by emotion, at such a risk to exist: so friendly those dice, so unfriendly such gambling, so protect, inflect and dine peacefully….

It’s been unsteady, nonetheless, steady, something unsteadily steady: those mental pictures, reminiscent at times, holding to brighter beliefs: so selected, so challenged, so hectic: our windmill arcs, this freedom warrior, so destroyed, so rebuilt, at indebtedness: this interior party, those grandparent prayers, those intricate yogis: at mystic rubies, so evolved and cedarchest’d, so heaven-drilled, so oaken chiseled.

Agaze’d afar an open Sea

Reimagine us, so destined, indeed, with comprehension: those nomadic roads, this interior camping, so young, so gifted, at sons and daughters: our grown tides, our evening cloves, so chaste, so abandoned, so uncomfortable: if but to dream, reminiscent of Felix, such helium and concern: those engines revving, our transmission shifting, at brown, legendary eyes: such virtual reality, such steep resistance, so charged and bashful: sweltering memories, sweaty palms, restructured, a passionate adult, so haunted: (I drench feelings, so purposed to achieve, so thrown by platonic affairs: those undercurrents, those wild fantasies, in one person, this hope, this scream, if but searching for wholeness: so indebted, so alike to children, this powerful machinery: our graffiti hearts, this internal cage, to feel as it rattles: such sawdust wishes, so alone that second, at deeper realization: to imagine particular needs, to imagine this savior, or needing reassurance: those fences so radical, this wall blocking sainthood, while inward feelings depict something ambivalent): such photography, at existential calligraphy, so rehashed, so redundant, while feeling pitiful: longing those days, pining in silence, such a flippant robot: this chasing ghost, those interior phantoms, while conversing with intellectual specters: at smoldering cries, awaiting this love, or tampering and tinkering with gas-heads: our Cadillac Converters, our emotional exhaust pipes, or better, our rippling infatuations with dreams.     …such a runaway, an abstract giant, so destitute at times: where life is reasonable, while shifting currents, indeed, a man desires amicable: an extension of us, a cloudy but perfect wind in us, so complete, so attuned, while reality glistens upon our fortress: such lovable creatures, so engaged, so ruined for others: longing for acceptance, re-dancing this legacy, while tethered to something familiar: so detached while losing, so distressed while celebrating, where why becomes a steady inquiry: our feral philosophic(s), our Utilitarian instincts, while a bit of pain appeals to our tendencies: this row of dominoes, this slight uneasiness, or this perfect picture missing a rose: our familiar bodies, this familiar lake, or those familiar squirrels: our cheeses with salami, our pop with chips, or our screams with inverted violence—these souls scratching, at purgatorial behaviors, while so calm, so collected, and so enveloped: at teal carpets, our moistened knees, our frontal lobes to ottomans: such running currents, such ringing phones, while most are angling for providence: at sky-tombs, or catacombs, so involved in fantasies: this semi-curse, our quasi-concerns, if but this Flowing Light: looking into roots, or counting tree rings, abandoned to interior longing: at imagination, so at love an image, where reality is striking our thoughts: so infatuated, so determined, so illusive: as years become torment, or Love is sung afar, while we realize Love has skated: this pleading gate, those pleading breezes, where even those shall fly: our bodily affinities, our logic with pie, our bottom line….

I’m drifting low, upon a plangent sea, debating poignant feelings: sensing a whale, carrying a baboon, where darker cries are found appealing: such overwhelmed uteruses, such damaging wombs, so alert to separation: those divided selves, this caricature cartoon, those catering absolutes: at brighter turmoil, wrestling parasitic illusions, while biblically groping at walls: agaze’d by gates, at temporal dimensions, so chafe, so chapped, fretting delirium: as never a softer reason, as never a saintly ripple, at such sin and replete chaos: a hatchet to hay, a pillow to brains, so abandoned to sensing something absolute: our chase through time, our deeper sensorium, where faces blur into ghosts: those dying dynasties, those provocative processes, so pinched, so probed, at panic, at placation: this absolute improbability, this sounding wave, those ocean green weeds: this palm of kale, if but those barriers, to possess, replete, and then reject—as winds gloss-over, as tales digest, so casual, so unseen, so in public: this broken moon, those shiftless screams, or settled into something promising control: this inner Nintendo, this joystick love, while overwhelmed by something promising agonies: our sicker selves, this silent sanctuary, or this sainted sinner: our paradox trefoils, our closer oxymoron, so blatant, at sensory glimpses, aborted to existence: this fairer sunshine, this gunning sunray, at something quite sensual: such rich incision, such fragile incipience, so flippant with life, so treacherously unfair: this poet’s fuel, this dreaded disaster, while reaching, so determined, so outright enclosed: fleeing passion, or running to passion, while this guillotine has inverted: at orchid scents, palming sundew, reminded of this activity in bugs: our flowing eyes, our indebted prose, so rooted in something abusive.

Turmoil Bear

…at reaper feelings, disguised in smiles, feeling outgrowth: heavy flowers, demented skies, a bit raw, a bit too cultured: petting a lily, needing more life, frowning, re-gauging or plain insecure: so much to live, so quick to die, feeling like liquid: a quick gesture, a subtle tone, to exist by hypersensitivities: abusing patience, neglecting principles, driven by elusive mist: if but to love, if but to exhaust pain, if but to lose existence: this film in souls, this movie in fantasies, those brains feeding transmitters: abused so early, reborn so late, while it felt Passion to resurrect: our daughters laughing, our mothers at new beginnings, our great ancestors feeding at our tables: this mawkish feeling, this logic mystical, at pure contradiction: but science aches, this methodological approach, where sight is required: to sense pain, to feel low, to enjoy sharing in miseries: this plane to Israel, this scriptural fee, as mammals addicted, even confused by reason: our silent empire, our radiant deaths, our nearby graves: so old with insistence, so young this tender kingdom, while rebuilt flying into cadence….     I’ve re-fired emotions, plucked and picked and plummeted: I’ve cried in dungeons, removed from normality, while restructured by insistent ignitions: so reexamined, therein, a fever, therewith, this gunning feeling, this running healing: gazing into stars, and re-reaching, at something familiar with new language: at prose like Satan, this thin line, where rebukes re-spoke this atmosphere: so alive those days, fleeing through galaxies, leering into something too gorgeous to pass: so easy to lie, so good with fallacies, debating this sign pointing at souls: this torn conscience, this heightened consciousness, so tugged by demons needing to repent: this roaring scream, this tentative confession, while realizing this need for softer whispers: so close to it, so ruined through it, so brought to life by it: this hard corner, this jungle vat, our minds rereading images: to have pure visual, to relax and pass away, re-walking, or re-stalking each door-path in this hallway: assuming weather, a bit cold in winter, a bit agaze’d in autumn.     Ethiopian screams, interior buzzing, so addicted to feeling existence: a tear to grass, so trampled by nature, while petting a solemn desire: such destruction, as bodies deteriorate, while an eight year old is rereading Jude: our minds at sabbatical, our guts at Disney Land, our lives approached with a lack of seriousness: so enlove with conception, so enthralled by perception, or sudden to break this curse.              

…we assume heaven, something but accursed, such demanding slyness: our secure souls, through wretched vice, at fires through hells to sustain security: we chance survival, our lance to intruders, our courage to adore life: our shared battles, our mitigated frustrations, hereinto, our deference and lust: so charged with deaths, so abandoned to myths, needing something concrete: fretted by abstracts, concerned with capacity, or more, longing Love may deny variety: so changed in meanings, so versed at travesties, our orchestra, our war-cries, our churning trumpets: those tightropes, this uncontrollable urge, our children, our dreams, our nightmares: to feel giddy, to believe in goodness, to barbeque sadness: those planks, those mayflies, this marshy, internal magazine….

…re-centered by inhibition, at wars with inhibition, gently seduced by inhibition: this re-jarred feeling, so thrust into graphics, while life presents dynamite: our misspelled perceptions, our trenchant illusions, or better, our need to sense vulnerability: this feigned illustration, those casual hellos, while purposed to destroy particular innocence: our moving brains, our reaching insights, to posit an insatiable need: while perfect with selection, so estranged from strengths, where simple instances desire an overseer: our black mothers, pushing our guts, demanding accountability: so overtaken, so treacherous with wisdom, so over those pink exotics: at churns and valleys, indebted to something abrasive, and screaming, Fires….

Pendulum Glance

…baptized and gunning, so aloof to it, while Love agonized it: this rich river, this itchy moon, so gone, so gloomy, so at moods: blue chills, fevered bricks, this News Channel: so deep inside, lying to breathe, or damn near annihilated: to see it and dine, to dine and love, at wars to keep it: this flimsy behavior, this slice in marrow, so behaved, so outlandish, or blatant disrespect:

I loved, Passion, so gutted but aware, a pocket of bad habits: liquor to brains, but rarely a slur, while Adorable was closer: this wall laughing, this fretted tendency, rereading language: so torn with tone, so alive with action, so attracted to ignorance: bad organs, gutter guitars, and ghetto fabulous: reborn with Jesus, pleading his pardon, at trial another those again: so bubbled, so cuffed, finding humor: those years demolished, this psych a bit at tales, our brains selecting attributes: to utter quickly, to cut a nerve, while years diminish nothing....

…those scarred havens, so insistent about love, where Passion was dying: our minced personalities, our chiseled sentiments, so cursed, so young, as finding Ms. Invisible—those ankles, those thighs, those hips: at something deeper, this casual anger, this sorrowing countenance, those indebted bodily gestures: our faces disdained, our guts ruined, so featured out—as demonized, so hidden, but heaven knew pain: at internal hatred, those streets screaming, so Sunset, so Malibu, so East Los Angeles: this gutter, this path, while Love was abandoned early: but try, Soul, to un-wrest something cringing, abused and thinking she might adore me: this pavement, this gunning, while baptized once again: so deep this Bible, so found in Caleb, such a warrior for Ms. Invisible: a sour English, a sour Speech, so accentuated, such a deeper womb, so alive and raddled for mercy: this achy craft, lost in derriere, gripping for dear life afraid to fail: this python goddess, those philosophic axioms, while Love rejected my first premise: this vervet monkey, those interior sewers, as men wrestle….

…so jarred, so uncured, fumbling through Ms. Incandescent: our differing codes, our hung-over egos, where Love was sober half a decade: such wrenching guilt, such osmosis energy, too close, too shook, nibbling a botanical root: our perfect errors, our perfect address, playing this pain of Yahtzee: seahorse eyes, mosquito insistence, damn near passed out: so revived, so at hunger, reduced to human appetites: a black caiman hunch, an alligator’s teeth, such pentacle and device: our dim ingredients, our endless enticements, our bodies rolling into tarantulas: those viper fangs, this teal blue sky abuse: our murderous eyes, while screaming at Jesus, floored for captured and dining with hell….

I swore to exist, but no one heard, and Love was too occupied: spinning doubts, a full human, if but a claim: nibbling poison, at love with Ms. Impassive, while her truest hook two seconds prior to climax: at red carpets, at opening doors, at bathing toes: this wrinkled perfection, this anything if but us, while tender hurt controls future affairs: such deep repentance, such insidious cries, while Love has never been so thick: this tremendous music, a man’s appetite, those curious, deeply cemented, ten tiers in, militias: our feng shui, after something so simple, if but invested in shifting moods: this thunder magnet, this psychological machinery, at sea monsters, at twelve headed tigers, or blue moon Passion: those dugite fangs, this bleeding neck, those fierce nails: so charmed for moments, but hell freezes over, so afraid but broaching topics: as smaller people, living smaller lives, to happen into Ms. Glamorous: those chitzsu twins, this piranha appetite, so gila, so Pagan, at such a fool’s inheritance.

I disappear at times, so purchased by desires, peering at something talkative: our signature malaria, this sickness, so diseased, so at love, while dead and feeling goodness: such hemorrhaging, such upheaval, so demanding, so intolerant, so desperate: our corporation, our shadow’s mirage, while feeling like life: such deeper existence, weighing options, while committed to disaster: hair moving, wind in knuckles, air to bones: an ephemeral aura, a glowing arc, a fevered thrust: so power high, so spidery, heart to heaven, and heaven to heart: our last touch, those roaring gates, and never another glance.

External Reaching

It feels different, at once ecstatic, fretting closeness: at concentration, at rosy passions, at innuendoes: such by life, figured in demands, so powerful, so darkened, so captive: those laughing hips, this strict persona, amazed but un-captured: our disturbing minds, our playful seriousness, at something so vague: it was years those days, awakened tenderly, observing dimples: Love was dreamy, so young this savant, so imbalanced this aged vision.     I’m dreading demons, plus, seeing ghosts, plus, and, nevertheless, seeking absolution: those deep incisors, this broken balloon, or this emphatic obsession:  grabbing Jesus, tearing his tunic, while attracted to something sultry: at caged emotions, uncaged and growling, or hissing a great dragon: those interior screams, leaking in facial quirks, so bass-lined, so treble hearted, so different: our troublesome infatuation, those troublesome absences, while abased for leering into mire: those winds, my Arc, this fool with madness, at aches and pangs, aborted to feeling empty: our separate lives, ignored casually, while eyes are reaching: such existence, such existential loneliness, while anger seems impartial: quick with tempers, outlandish with cries, too close to absorb pain: our loud clocks, our louder dreams, so indebted, so embarrassed, where agony seems appropriate: those regular reasons, this regular Iceland, at something too irregular to call home: searching through graphics, at mythical sensation, so evolved, so impassioned, or enveloped and mailed to failures.

Day II

I adore thoughts, walking into Love, so abandoned to inhibition: at churns, dying God, so forbidden and dancing: our aches bleeding, so rough those gates, while seated in Nazareth: searching rhythms, at Lake Depression, or feeling elated: this wheel spinning, this lane laughing, this gut so demented: such passed-out lights, such lengthy problems, so disgusted and feuding behaviors: plus, those eyes, that concentration, while so far apart: so grateful, so pained, our guts wooing reality: those exaggerations, this oxymoron, at deeper dangers: so blue with life, so readjusted, contemplating sex: this intimate investment, this tell all story, our bodies extensions of our souls: so wrong with existence, so many drastic years, so abrasive to core beliefs: so damaged, or so ahead, while fiddling indecision: (those cries, so silent, pushing through pressures: so allergenic, so close, so deadly afar: thrusting Cyan Rain, alive and laughing, such undercurrent screams: to have perfection, to die perfection, so curled, so lavish, so dead inside: our fierce actions, our weekday admiration, while needing something atypical: this burning house, this lazy fire department, or dreams raging into rashes: our inner disrespect, our caliber nonsense, at more than something casual: but time is dying, water has run dry, and Life is cringing from thirst: our parental love, so worried inside, to have known such composition: as giving fire, and receiving fire, while something is nudging fire: those sky-maps, this conscious concern, where something would if but this reputation: those classic rehabs, this interior madness, so escaped, so found, and so many decades at becoming perfect).     I found language, this raging thief, those intellectual, mnemonic casualties: our seesaws, our rhythms with turquoise, at sunshine, so bottled, so intense, so curious: to perish so gently, to rent passion, or trespass achy hearts: our courage waning, our thrills petering-out, so addicted to particular cadence: to sense you those seconds, to see slight jealousy, so amazed you hear me: but Love’s over there, and a swan over those mountains, or cadence, commands, and gray/black clouds: so alive a thought, peering into transgression, at thoughts feeling ruined: this Princess madness, this Mystic Misnomer, or this capturing weblock: at terrible frustration, a casualty to behaviors, or too quick to dismiss potentiality: so abandoned, so relocated, while interior dungeons are flicking photographs: those gunning ghosts, this churning room, or this class of mistakes: this answering machine, those wrathful typewriters, or this spirit-calligraphy: so captive with expression, but lost to confession, as saying a great deal and missing those lights: this inch in mud, those terrible observations, where years become accuracy: while never another soul, so many wasted years, such pining, missing faces, while most never would: those tender concerns, if but freshwater, if but romantic alligators: but days are weary, as brains are temperamental, but discipline is waging its war: to adore while living, to die while breathing, at pure battle!

Gentility Rhinestones

…so sick there, such heavy frustration, inverted, so calm, hating those flippant reasons: so excused, such a dead person, so poor with morals, so rageful with hatred: this sick ass composure, those burgundy rugs, this frigid white monkey: so many years at it, this perfect person, while whores are turning tricks: this desperate, envious, even jealous person: so many laughs, this demented soul, while esteemed as politicians: our fueled allies, our nose rings, our pierced cavities: to die this feeling, so grogged and offensive, such a threat to humiliation….     …we sense sickness, we wave a flag, so near, so smelly, so gutted: this field of hoppers, this grassy green vagueness, while tender a second, so grabbed by Forbidden: those black moons, those beige lines, so curious, so dead, such a rival of human standards: such recited veins, such putrid odors, while lives are goodly ruined: thesis to necks, dissertation to bowels, and Love adores feeling trashy: this interior enemy, this mental friend, those cameras, those wigs, this hellish person: so gutted, so floored, while crawling to Satan: perfect strangers, so perfect a tendency, so bias towards something raunchy: our pointing minds, our wretched hedonism, our graphic skies: as addicts wrestling, as addicted to feeling dungy, while it felt so fantastic to release Christianity: posed in ingredients, so many palms, so cursed and feeling suicidal: but running to ghettoes, or roaming sick ass alleys, so afflicted, such a diamond, while guzzling vodka….

I’m losing lights, I’m feeling theological, but life is so infected: this pool of ignorance, this interior yearning, those bass-line travesties: our thuggish arches, our thuggish women, or so rich, so inflamed, while needing desecration: such human behavior, so fretted so young, while I’ve seen those seamy sides: some pass disease, others pass narcotics, while others run from self passing judgments: our plums with gin, our strawberries with clay, our futures with barbwires: this bone-gut, this sky-cartilage, at pavement face to imploding: this horrible feeling, this glorious God, so inverted, such a prude, but addicted to something disgraceful: this man with problems, this woman anti-sins, where behavior is bleeping normal: those years with therapists, those seconds with conscience, so flipped, so jaded, where it takes a great infraction to climax: our ribs, God, our Greeks, God, our forbidden molehills: this Solomon curse, this winter’s attraction, so reasonable, so affected, so changed and feeling dislocated: as young those cries, while old these pebbles, so flexed, so fluxed, while it felt exciting to churn gravy.

It feels unbearable, but lies are courted, one so infatuated, damn near desperate, and saying just about anything: those curly sighs, that coquettish smile, this feeling like dying to agree: so pulled inwardly, so thrilled mentally, while ignoring this wretch’s reputation: our souls so packed, our minds so running, at gates pleading entrance: a palm of pills, a glass of terror, while so close to making a breakthrough: back to ground zero, this land of temptation, those grains sewn into something exotic: our deadly bodies, our invaded cavities, so wretched, biting jaws, so alive to die in a stranger’s dungeon: so ashamed with it, this self-talking machine, while a trillion dollar woman just turned her ninth trick: our inclinations, those attractive, but grungy excitabilities: so raw with hate, so rare a soldier, while Love just graduated a warrior: our long banter, our dozen games, while a glare stimulated something deceased.

Millennia

…too much indecision, therein, too much non-existence, while we aim for excitability: this medicinal, mechanic jargon, carrying indebted weights, or struggling, even suffocating, so lost in perception: skipping topics, this battle with religiosity, while it’s good, it carries too many insistencies: aborted seekers, ocean skies, our seas supporting stars: our silent flowers, our suggestible instincts, so close to beauty, needing new life, and passing over opportunity: those gray spots, those green blades, walking a great distance tucking clumps of grass: those recital years, so caged by provocation, so managed by ideals: skipping topics, but similar in vein, this approach to spirituality: our natural wounds, our deeper hemispheres, our synaptic entourage: so close to Love, so afar and drifting into Love, so cursed and delighted: this responsible inconsistency, this portal so ephemeral, at galaxies grounded in earth space: those manta instincts, swimming into dimensions, so incredible with sensories: our gray sun, our red spacial terrors, so accursed, so special, at internal war-cares: while animals dream, or humans have visions, where songs carry mnemonic crystals: so Born Again, or so yogi a flier, or so mystic a churn: this whelm of insistencies, this casual place for happiness, while it becomes too overwhelming: those Maserati sensations, those vertical forests, those trees beginning to bud: our steeper barks, our steeper climbs, at evening tea debating several boulders: those bird shows, this dazzling performance, or those seasons for mating: these beautiful displays, this terrific intake, so concerned about our condition…! 

I’ve acquired an instinct, sitting in public, gathered in resonance: so akin to love, this chase through skies, this never-ending desire: our crowded starlings, picking ornaments, so reborn with permission: smoldering vats, incandescent pearls, defying resistance: so gone in one person, so relocated by a gesture, so stable and unsteady: as paradox gives, this life or excitabilities, our dreams tiptoeing mandolins: at pie with feelings, at seaweed with toes, our senses clouded by expectation: such a hundred years, at raging subtleties, our primitive emotions: so desperate to have one, so inclined to study one, at frustration, and satisfaction, while able to enjoy those tested feelings: over-revved sensations, or plain disappointments, such a Great Rift: those canopies, those teepees, our drier islands: at peaches and plums, or fish and fire, so powerfully fueled: indeed, these three elements, so akin to existence, while forever threads push our minds: so captured by others, this community of secrets, while something holy probes our awareness.

…so solace and solitude, so open and closed, or so helpful with observation: this filmed frustration, this soft meow, or suggestibility disproving its toleration: our blanket hearts, our nomad curiosity, while boxed in trepidation: our ability to soar, while avoiding sky-webs, where interior is restructured: those looming lamps, this facial concern, our insecurities tapped and mapped: this need for believing, this challenge to worship, while something scientific offers a bit of coldness: our human proclivities, our jesting seriousness, at moons and stars while bathing in sunlight: so deep with wishes, our fantasy zones, leering into evening thunder: our barks as mazes, our souls as gated, while we pine over brief encounters: this shoulder for love, this animosity for love, where souls become hermits: at warmer distances, or too close for understandings, at higher tiers so concerned….        

Bits about Us

I took to silence, a method by suppression, while wiggling in spirit: to burnish a thought, to buffer a feeling, but mainly impassive: it was dungeon city, looking at raw behaviors, interacting with disorder: so cozy and dangerous, so alive but sorrowing, or feeling contentious flux: roses are insignificant, compassion is un-meditated, but empathy is desired unconsciously: I sensed embarrassment; I told fabrications; I sung in silence: our graveyard skies, our deeper observations, where others seem to flourish: interior music, grayer eyes, even a stern countenance: so resistant to flux, so designed by flux, while ignoring said flux: this spinning planet, our incapable cries, plus, those abrasive arguments: at desired submission, such learned behavior, as it carries over into city affairs: willing to unlearn, willing but shy, while praying mantis lurk near shadows: those interior films, this pubic cinema, while senses are ringing knells: but yours is even, or at least genetic, where something desires to exist: beyond mere sex, beyond mere play-time, but desiring capable abilities: those dreams as flying, reality courting its swan, where mother is proud: but envious arts, shall up-rise, where battles are inevitable.

…a plate of tacos, a bowl of salad, or fried chicken wings: loud voices, a slight stench, and one candle: so many influxes, such changing, increasing, even soft violent behaviors: our years with neighbors, our secret havoc, but yours is not so intense: indeed, to believe, where members sense reality, while acting in accordance: accordion sound, trumpets blaring, or hearts pounding: this inner scale, this weighing by intensities, where one is too young to decipher how mother knew: we gently laugh, looking at this super image, while concerned lines have been crossed: that multifaceted mother, this hellish competition, this loved jewel: if but those eyes, to experience that character, I too, would adore with allegiance: but life is running, while souls are chasing, so affected by childhood demonstrations: this tickling clock, this shedding armoire, or this existential cadenza: our blurred emotions, our reeled angers, while many adults are not playing those violins: at deep debates, longing for normality, while fretting something is askew: this planet of winners, this rhythm in losing, while it felt so normal: (to never possess some ‘thing’, becomes a lack of yearning for that ‘thing’, where it feels comfortable to maintain this status quo): it appears easy, but eyes are sensing unions, and imagination is haunting, while schools are shifting undercurrents: those mental valleys, this interior shack, or those emotional hallways: so stressed concerning privilege, so privy to adult-life, where mathematics appear in private….

I sense deep forces, a deeper frustration, a casual need: but thoughts are perfect, images must be perfect, plus, we live so much condemnation: repentance seems shallow, plus, not too concerned with heaven, while years inculcate and become determinants: these forces screaming, plus, infinity—we live as strangers: so more to something current, something showing allegiance, something enlove with Princess: this fairer fight, those dramatical winds, indeed, any upheaval is totally someone else’s doings: spoken so casually, plus, as fact would have it, I have never done injustice a day in my life: this comfortable image, this promoted, catered to, and enforced perception: this legion of powers, this consecrated sincerity, while others are a bit confused: but yours is college, deeper respects, plus, an atmosphere of deeper thoughts: where insistence doesn’t speak absolutes, while realized friction doesn’t mean sincerity, and something suffering mustn’t persist—in need of honor, this chilly resistance, while your personality is molding: (those deeper premises: if mother dislikes father, and father refuses to submit, than daughter must dislike father): quite simple, quite allergenic, even quite provoking: but never you mind, work towards seeing reality, and work towards distinguishing normal vs. unsuitable.    

Foggy Antenna

…a muggy lake, a sandpapered heel, reaching for sediments: a flickering light, those dim rooms, those myriad memories: our minds operating, our similar moods, rewiring cords: those dancing umbrellas, sitting in stillness, arranged neatly: our flowing vision, this small spider, our wet napkins: if but received, I wonder dearly, if malaise would reappear: but by science, such familiar extents, such breezy shifts: pushy heaviness; relit emotions; vigil but peaceful candles: a furnace with time, an atmospheric pang, so charmed to fancy a miracle: putting much in hope, accustomed to believing, where a person carries our feelings:—knitting softly, ensuring endurance, overly responsible for tomorrow: an interior cage, plus, outward resentment, while nearly buckling: those tight belts, such scriptural existence, or radical resistance: those head-storms, at brain-thunder, while sky-havoc felt appealing: our bicycles, those metaphorical cranks, so alike to persistence: those taller decencies, those smaller inconsistencies, or bouncing with physics: buoyant conversation, velocity thoughts, feeling slight nuance: at windmills debating, or forgetting our affliction, so realized in disappearances: life as rainbows, as feelings to horizons, we tread our city deserts: sweeping relentlessly, remodeling frantically, this need for feng shui….

…cloudy, but stirring, albeit, repented admiration: spirit-binoculars, endless splinters, or a purple orange sky: so far from destiny, this shaggy road, those talkative potholes: those tunic dreams, but untamed agonies, but tragic instructors: such amplified emotion, as time becomes mechanic, realizing as such this pushy intruder: recalibrated; re-filtered; so close to a symbolic note: as devious insistence, working against witnesses, our lips sealed by promises: as years to surrender, or pulpits to a trenchant need, or bare feelings to an opened sky: our retrieved senses, our relieved testimonies, so received, or too delicate, our emotion unwiring: lucre becomes paradise, victuals become worship, while on-seers have become intolerable….

We’re invisible souls, watching through widows, our mirrors are miry: our films repeat, our intake is similar, our spirits carry frequencies: we desire existence, where risks are mandatory, plus, skies are incandescing: our miracles are hard-won, our realization is an aftermath, so clear through darkness: such shivering aches, redeemed in persons, at love through guitars: those murky ponds, those yellow beige geese, while depending upon magical spheres: but crowded at moments, seen in parts, where vibration erupts: those outstanding measures, or intricate pianos, wheezing over gestures: at fire with existence, at life with pluralities, so postmodern feeling antiquities: our souls battling freely, too much is just enough, as needing pure satisfaction.

I chance a feeling, redeemed in agonies, speaking Yahweh Mornings: I puff a clove, deny this sickness, while praying a distant seed: so at thoughts, those casual interiors, at wonders those few persons: as seeking peace, or remembering rain, so accustomed to its downpour: maybe rearrange feelings, or re-furniture an instinct, while realizing someone has lit a furnace: those casual, deep rooted, or free-flying cables: our phones upon strings, our pain in another’s eyes, so calm about feeling those edges: if but to leap, while dependent upon particles, our bodies floating upon shards: at mid-range papers, re-inking our minds, or re-gassing our determination: so pleased at times, realized in a good moment, where souls are training self for bringing Good Tidings: (so pleased to commune, so pleased to have met, and so pleased to be responsible): this inward dwelling, those outer seas, so filtered by behavior: reborn in eyes, such a dear friend, at moments, it hurts: this curious participant, our popcorn with juice, our simplicity outreaching its depth: such outdated baggage, wondering about, Who cares; indeed, an infant man.      

Troubadour Tambourine

…as timeless souls, our tacit vocality, stressed, demonized, and cultured by injustice: if but flowery scents, or oils by Trauma, delving closer to our subconscious: phones ringing, souls taking messages, our secretarial spirits typing: afar and esteemed, bubbly and submissive, but a kingdom to few: those better lives, by amateur riches, while naked creating art: those public squares, those unrealized humans, our poverty orphans: so much running, so much silence, so much restriction: city agoutis, sawdust wishes, plus, one softer whisper: raging upheavals, or signature sorrows, so invisible to our closest family: amore was trapped, amore was gunning, and amore was tired: Become for me, exist in us, permit sacrifice or even deaths to exist: argent ink, decorated appeals, aesthetic legacies: smoky language, throaty lungs, raspy attraction: so sick in us, lecture and vomit, even heaving intestines: a dry fever, a flustered sun: so futuristic, so deliberate with lights, so cursed and innocent: those Picasso paintings, our fresco temples, our resurrected Gospels: at tears for Love, as meant this embarrassment, as designed those guillotines: our captured personas, those aurous skies, abandoned to adoring Love: our last repair, running into hostility, our classism, our restrained voices, celebrating tragedy: courting mind, matrix, and martyrdom: reliving ecstasy, reviving intimacy, too discovered, thus, vulnerable, and so unedited: those earlier vibrations, those in-wall trysts, at an enclosed and smothering closet: our deepest deceits, our repelled absences, so macro-managed, so accustomed to dying, and crocheted by Affliction: while never re-imagined, while never unachieved, at eyes clearly, but devastated by troops: this land of destruction, captured in Da Vinci’s screams, accursed for privilege….  

…spirits are filming, silence is required, but screeches and shrills penetrate unconscious souls: such helium is privacies, even failed interrogation, as time envelopes space: giving Eternity, receiving Immortality, rewritten in over a trillion minds: so indebted to comforts, so endangered for hanging, but so destined to possess every art: rebuilding castles, or reframing articles, astute and gifted jotting down a dozen lines: those poet funerals, those suspicious kings, our children raised by other souls: our first departure, galloping through forests, so determined to find our artifacts: astray and abandoned, left lonely and destitute, so prudent, but so effected, or abased and craving: at court jesters, such a detrimental career, while glancing for watching and listening closely: this travail by wits, this travesty of uneasiness, while to win might mean death: but our longing closet, those darker shadows, this whole three feet our calamity: so troubled, so abashed, or proud to have broken static: romance so decadent, horderves so rotten, our destiny sent across seas: at more to battle, at war to die, while behaviors seem ordinary….       

entrada de diario

…an iron mask, or sensual alienation, so close to something detached from existence: such facial evidence, such physiognomy, our blessed, hive-built condemnation: at rebuilt desire, at something incredible, even, therein, at loving cries: so resisted, so alphabetical, so opened but closed to it: while kicking pebbles, or gripping grass, roundabout such interior belief: welcome to live, but rules are partial, while alike to peers: such individuals, why imploring senses, so bathed, so baptized, or similar to another’s mistakes: […] I lost, Autumn—retrieved in mud, washed gently and flung into college: such see-through venom, such rich acid, as metal melts: at musicality, so flowery, nay, such a drag: another clove, another tense, another pressure: so simple with life, those invisible people, our 9 to 5, our home-life, our perfect universe: where others are pushed, and others are damaged, and others in Jeremiah’s pit: at alien cartoons, stumbling upon black faces, remembered but placed in parentheses: so charged to examine, so rusty at pretenses, or so angry at pure willfulness: Listen more, suggest attentiveness, reside in wisdom: those serious tenets, this serious disposition, so found, so rejected, and too with flowing leaves: […] as it becomes human, it wrestles with Frankenstein, so hideous, or so beautiful, but unnoticed clearly: those frolicking years, our honest mirrors, our deceitful mirrors, so challenged to ignore pride: this lovely palm, those torn palms, while Love is collecting nails: rebuilt and studied, at something seemingly casual, while souls are fitting us into boxes: such private entertainment, slots filled with animation, in angular sequences prone to respond: or cast to oblivion, settled as non-cooperative, where insecurities are inverted: but many play chess, losing for winning, stepping into situations: as extended members, living an unsteady reality, so filled with angst, so enlove with mentors: this gym environment, or those yoga classes, while we must interact to exist: our bodily language, our receptive airs, at tales but unsold—this magnet existence, those perfect curves, while realizing faith in brevity: to have such experience, to enjoy this using sensation, while torn for thrown and landing into socialization: […] our souls debating, over climatic storms, while life elsewhere is paused: such revving emotion, while becoming detached, our minds responsible for our hearts: those rooted chasms, this overture of passion, so removed, but everso close, if but this last reality…!     …re-space this nightmare, re-glen those landscapes, at Pythagoras this human diagram: (so partial to souls, avoiding what tingles, while many need such stimulation: this reaching man, over a short conversation, I see two kids, a nice home, and distance creating a sense of apathy): too young to exist, too old to live, or too persistent to outlive our changeable seconds: too geared to die, too honest to pretend, while we need dishonesty: this world of make-believe, as entering into brevity, while characters combined over multiple experiences: such complication, as desiring to feel, thus, desiring a modicum of deaths: our bodies, plus, pain, our verbal exaggerations, plus, unreality, and such closeness through feeling uniformed: […] so heart filled, so delighted, or such a parachute: she never touched gravel, until gravel became human, such silence our rooms so decorated by reasons: so reach us, or pine in clubs, so afraid, so needy, while participating at angst: this lying soul, this secret dilemma, so pleased to present such an aura: our carved walls, our sky-fans, our melting concrete: so left at turns, looking for right at churns, another person, or maybe too resistant: such entrenching dialogue, such familiar marsh, our mayflies speaking Vietnamese: so Asian in wisdom, so African at rites, so Europe at literature: this Egyptian spirit, this dragon fire, our souls so addicted to our waves: so thankful for Autumn, so alive in Disney, while life is passed off through Mickey Mouse: a pail of dolls, a cedarchest of Legos, or a tale of three unfamiliar cartoons: […] this fretful lagoon, our complicated necessities, accompanied by false illustrations: such life to survivors, this modicum at existence, so threshed, so relaxed, so obedient to love: those sincere pains, those deeper panthers, this cat-war, this lion spiritual: those fiery souls, such receptive spines, holding to lights and diamonds even insistence: those palm held souls, those remote islands, so curious, so dependent, so interrupted by existence: those fear-fed demolishers, so structured with time, so insync, so demanding, at Love as if a miracle: those rolling eyes, those tight sweats, those muscular calves: so attuned to moods, both over a nightmare, so triggered, so angry, melting with compassion….              

Evidential Sunsets

I tried to remove it—this paining instinct, so haunted by God’s Pendulum: as mechanic creatures, filled with decisions, and torn by emotion: this Morning’s Ladder, debated personal concerns, while meditated upon this creature in man: those wrangling eyes, this struggling ego, where women are warm but unpredictable: to give freely, this nourished nature, while cleaving to a cherished ideology: but life is caiman, and life is reptilian, while life is good, wholesome, and contradictory.

…stoic concerns, Love; this city of mauve lights, those clubs for sinners: so close those dungeons, so afar those floggings, so dear those hopes: our ancient ancestors, so repulsed, so drawn, begging, even pleading for completion: our similar sin, our scattered personalities, our hives, our skin, our dynamite—as pure humans, set apart, so clean, even too clean: ruined hogs, discarded pigs, our black tendencies and yelling with ghosts: somewhere those walls, screaming at scriptures, so accused but hell was language: those leaves, Autumn, those gardens, re-worked, so challenged by affection: so slow with thoughts, so quick with decisions, such a dire paradox: those chief sensations, this policed memory, those rabid ass thieves: a million to palms, a tear to necks, while mother knitted a kite: so devastated, so ritualized, at ten predispositions: those Laws, this glue, walking through Jewish territories: a quarter for plums, a dollar for cookies, plus, a diamond bottle blinking at Jesus: ‘that man gone’, ‘those dreams are wasted’, and ‘something so real is fully human’: such spoken chaos, such kid bunnies, while father needed a genius: our ears, Love, our scars, Winter, while a slight breeze entered Joseph’s chambers: so faithful, those universal mis-appraisals, while it takes a seed to impregnate: this mystic soul, that long journey, while I believed in community: this age in silence, our spaceship cries, our spacial insanities: at lieutenant sorrow, or wretched melancholy, and so proud to perish: indeed, with friction, so alert to destroy, while years ago life was pleasant….

…at terrible science, so alert to penalties, so born into violence:

our catatonic nearness, as a dying insistence, but too young to see:

in dire predicament, those fallen physicians, our physiologies afire:

so Israel, so Jewish, so Palestinian—those Assyrian eyes, those

Siberian ankles, so lost at moments, so found nodding at indifference:

such a cultural famine, such deep depletion, while we argue against

literature: so netted, while fishing lights, nibbling a turtle’s intestines:

our temples bleeding, our mothers wailing, such poignant fears:

our women baffled, so susceptible, or plain angry: our widows

dying, our orphans forsook to silence, and Autumn just graduated:

so cursed at intervals, so enlove for escape, and, henceforth, a mad fire….

…so sad to feel us, this echo in silence, so attuned to behavior: our assessment spirits, our oxymoronic passion, so alert, so shunned, or ingratiated fearfully: those inner mornings, this intricate ghost, while something tugs towards traffic: our newest feelings, our latest emotion, our iced souls: those glaciers, while yearning near fire, or longing for something more developed: such appetites, peering into a raging culture, or so bothered by intimate analyses: Messiah complexes, longing for privilege, made privy to re-assessment: so shocked to see it, to hear it screaming, where realization strikes: this impassive universe, this cursed enterprise, this pool of pure crocodiles: as a watching leopard, or a panting cheetah, we distinguish notable reality….  

Belly Flute

…so late but gifted, to need those winds, to valley this tension: so deceased, a damn near infant, plummeted for spoils: those charms laughing, this ink of questions, a slight chill, an infant’s sneeze, or mother’s response: at freedom daughters, or freedom professors, or freedom men—to survive so long, where something is underappreciated, while witnesses point and mock and repent:

…at heart-ropes, this tiptoeing trapeze, so lost in tiny particles: those friendship eyes, under deep scrutiny, such flowery language: so sweet to hear you, so captive with concerns, at wonders to hide you: this hyena’s world, this wolverine’s forest, while spirituality is misspelled: at darker memories, or intense fantasy, while I practice speaking to a second born: to possess something pure, while feeling attached, where psychs and lieutenants raid our compound:

…I never knew, this sick ass passion, so thrown for something irrelevant: it meant nothing, merely routine, as heathens and thieves, or gunning too fast: those appropriate hours, so skipped with time, where we pretend softly: such by curses, or opalescent minutes, while life took essence….

I adore you, this plural singularity, so addressed as studied: rereading cherry-blossoms, or walking shrubberies, too proud to forfeit something indelible: our antes, our antelopes, our arts, our courage: such delicate tendons, such talkative arms, such anklet goodbyes: as never so close, but ever so scarred, feeling so resistant: deliberate ink, or tattooed names, while we look in desperation: treading problems, while searching for closure, or sensing something too delicate for temperaments: those intense reasons, climbing upward, but six feet deeper: trekking skies, looking into Jesus, observing a wild ideal: this curse for souls, those constant chirpings, or romantic, idealist, even panicky eyes—to hold souls, to uplift a beating drum-pain, as poured into sexuality: or harsher years, rummaging countenances, while expressions speak memories: so captive a glance, or cold an envelope, while behaving as therapists: (so haunted by experience, so charmed to overview, or possibly, too close to adoring you: such burgundy rugs, such scented couches, while seated upon Infinity—this casual acapella, those reticent smiles, while ghosts hover our evenings: at purple intestines, so moved with time, while appeasing darkness): at heart-works, or firestorms, or plain illusion: those sky-ribbons, our souls knitted, or chained, while keys are tossed asunder: so much in experience, so far from receiving, while something spacial.

…such private angst, striving by excellence, informed through mini-mirrors: glancing at remarkable, sensing something facetious, while giggling looking into paradise: such deeper grief, such weeping soil, at peculiar encounters: those crystals, this moon, our allegiance: so many errands, so many castles, so many rooms: this haunted hallway, those portrait disguises, so alarmed by unsteadied minds: (it became mercy, while kneeling but disdained, while plurality appeared): so terrified, so lost, feeling creeks and dunes and sand-printed:

…more to you, and more to ghosts, while you never understood—those sky-tunnels, this underground, or better, this underbrush: at fire-threads, so locomotive, amid a room feeling its tornado: such dangerous ambition, at tender soil, or dungeon anticipation: to give too much, while requiring too much, where humans build architecture: such louder language, such luggage land, so addicted to something shunning:

…our miscommunication, our cloud islands, or those pedestals: as reborn intellects, or reaching intuitions, received in energy, avoided in body, while hands and souls and dreams are regarded: so next to silence, so redeemed, so casual or plain walking through hazards: those chemicals, those screams, indeed, so sober, so ugly, and God’s special project….