…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….
