…slow with pace, or aces
with diamonds, or jacks and tens: such black magic, such rippling trust, our
intellects squirming: this field-house, those muddy loafers, or this soul
crying, wailing, so devastated by non-possession: so in moments, so deceased in
longevity, or so worried we rebuild every evening: such smiles with deaths, so
abused such essence, while so silent, so ashamed, plus, such winning:
opalescent lies, this colorful neediness, only with hate to demand more dying:
those flowing garments, such loose intensity, while a man becomes stupid: a
woman’s catastrophe, while so enchanted, where it felt good to sense thinking: our pet-peeves, our
controversial dynasties, so at length, so near, but never a thought to what we
provoke: so dramatized, this railing theater, our stages somewhat frightening:
so blue, or so seductive, at such business replies: this complication, this
stirring balloon, too close, too distant, or enlove with husbands: eight
characteristics, eight personalities, as was, as is, while we give surrender to
rigidities: those wild dogs, this pack of emotions, if but to grab and hold,
and permit entrance: this many with features, this island so afar, or drowning
in pure intelligence: so spliced, at unruly knowledge, so cavalier, or such
starving, where hunger craves something off limits: to ponder about eyes, as
one too old to believe, where most relationships are toxic and difficult to
iron out: leering at ants, while rebuking crickets, so chanced, so afraid, so
desperate to die alone: for trust destroys, or pardons Jesus, such deep
controversy over existence: such hustle, such hurdles, so hunger for something
dying for longevity: or something so honest, while Flynn debates those years,
so akin to something corporate: this leading life, our remora scars, while
enslaved by ideals: (but how with Love, if Love is plural, but Love is deadly
honestyJ): this devious honesty, this
kleptomaniac honesty, this thief robbing our Ghost: such adorable weasels, or
forbidden to God, while we assume God has never made love: our Olympus
Dynasties, our angelic hyenas, our demon-sold-care dingoes: (to sense you, to
cry about pain, while ill-equipped to maintain a dozen more years: our mandarin
nectar, our in-for-out desperation, while familiarity has one hating what he
adores: this cryptic curse, this feral abuse, while Love is deceased and
gripping tighter: those black eyes, treating his highest crush, this wild
devilish Scarlett mind-actress: so enthralled, such aching treason, so enlove,
so abandoned, while too thuggish to possess a different thought: those tiger
cries, those cheetah eyes, where Love appeals to something dying in its ghetto:
such interior worlds, such acted-mind-cares, while it never occurred where Love
was at deeper wonders: this money greenness, this diary with faces, while
during trial Love was desecrated—this psych-gut, this theater muse, or professors
repulsed by something devastated: those finer days, while an hour is deceptive,
while Love is so obedient to rules: this mask re-warn, this wearing
controversy, at addicts feeling comfortable: this crazed reality, this mental
energy, while both are playing pretend: this lot in Genesis, this mission in
Exodus, or those Laws in Leviticus: at Numbers with non-sense, headed to this
deep honesty, while needing something that gives more life: this needy spirit,
so incumbent upon you, where flat and faced to announce, I need you: such thunder-pain, such cash-pain, or so remote this
destiny filled with major outrages): rereading those seconds, to know you hated
science, to realize our broken curse: this authority rain, this mud-crane, at
jerboa this elephant monster: such interior crawling, those parental tress, if
but to realize those few sessions: so caught this moment, so needing
excavation, or pulled for running where such women are ubiquitous: so cold that
morning, such chasing winds, where Love was intoxicated: (I saw mother, I
needed mother, but this line divided its perception: another so sexy, at such
lines, where a feature became interesting: if but to need her, if but to have
her, would I die to keep this—at plural advice, removed from life, so concentrated
it guts infinity): such slime-mold, such puffy bread, or yeast that one must
watch closely: this Kerry surprise, this endless river, as it drifts into our
oceans: this salmon rush, this raging bear, while it all went wrong: this tide
for wolves, this lake for fleas, where Love grogged and passed out: this neat
blanket, this neat response, where Love awakened while screaming and crying:
this need for filth, this love for beauty, while two fell to parts at Love’s
Gravity: so dead in passion, so alive in friction, to mid a scar and ravish an
animal: this
view with leniency, this postmodern affection, so rebuilt, so dead with
science, while Love needs to inferior a corpse: our women with grace, or dirty
and dignified, or something those years we never met: at something psychic, at
something damn near unreal, while she takes such gifts for granted: such cellar
mushrooms, such greener eyes, such brown havens…(Please reboot Us)!
