I came as saddened,
lodged in mother’s womb, experiencing undercurrents: those crucial elements,
suggestive genetics, rummaging father’s DNA: born melancholic, a silent child,
so near depression: our manic laughs, our manic interior, just awaiting
something to rupture: our fascination, those penetrating eyes, or a temper
harnessed by aggression: to adore mother, and long for father, a bit made dull
with experience: this mystic seed, those deeper communions, our rapid feedback:
this niche for language, as partly self-taught, while reading into cultural
dimensions: born with magic, accursed by chimes, where love was prominent: so
deranged, but un-clinical, where thoughts appeared askew: to reason with peers,
captured in eyes, while something was interrogating worth: but life was Tao,
and life was Zen, plus, life was Christic: those retreats through Westchester,
or those trails on Lincoln, while moving slowly up Sepulveda: our women so
appealing, this interior variety, so challenged to ignore proclivities: so
sought and seeking, so manic and estranged, pausing in Manhattan Beach: at
something itching, thrust through ghettos, presuming closeness to mother: those
dangerous alleys, those foreign dice games, while cigarettes and stench
plummeted our lungs: indeed, pausing on Sunset, entertaining something peculiar,
or watching as one struck a match: such graphic realities, such sincere
tragedies, as a soul squatted in relief: but fiery dreams, so many fiery screams,
plus, such mystic silence: rereading romance novels, or stumbling upon
encounters, a bit sluggish and headed to Houston’s: hitherto, this differential,
our dirty thoughts, our language riches: at months in Brentwood, while
traveling through South Central, where faces were becoming familiar: so cold in
May, so cold in June, so warm for triumph by September: at so triggered loses,
matched by few, so read, so indebted, so curious….
…we broke engines, as
never an oil change, while quite metaphorical: this endless cycle, this monthly
hustle, this debilitated money making: sudden by walls, those stoic, unfeeling,
and demanding walls: so free, so enchanted, so imprisoned: those earlier years,
our youths suffocated, our mental ambition soaring: this life for capture, this
woman for negotiations, this river with dams: notwithstanding, sadness seemed
normal, while looking at bold displays, and wondering what happiness meant: our
privileged cultures, our privileged responses, where Little Jolene curses at
her mother: or those days at Ralph’s, sensing friction, to glance over at
Little Bobby throwing a fit: for mother would fly, and snatch an ear, and
scream, If you don’t stop embarrassing
me: these slight differences, while going deeper, we see deep entitlement
to letting children soar freely: such free expression, such articulation, where
most souls are so reserved: but something gives, this harsher reality, where
most aren’t prepared for this abrasive world….
…such a shift, so
dreamy, at cagey arks: this man so different, those loses so intimate, this
mother so classical: this lute, this clarinet, or those radical trumpets: this
war at life, this winning disposition, this edge, this woman: our minds
running, this ship sailing, while one would cry: to move with diligence, to
become sophisticated, or a manager moving in tacit loudness: our guts, our
shivers, our black moon mysticism: this sky-dune, this childhood dungeon, so at
grief to love unconditionally: those poisonous tenets, this humble
manipulation, while one is made pliable: another person’s vision, so sick with
illustration, where we’re used for another person’s happiness; this slight
variance, this normal atmosphere, until one is misused: those diseases in
souls, this omission in beats, while a man is told to die: those damsel flies,
or this lucid anger, so calm, so chatty, at a stranger looking to redeem: as a
pool of mongooses, or a pit of cobras, while we met for dinner….
…offer a name,
provide evidence, give us more than
pure emotion: respect academia, side
with clarity, and stop depending upon authority: indeed, for agitation, indeed,
for deliverance, or moreover, indeed, for freedom: those blue birds, this song
island, while Love is kicking encyclopedias: at richer content, at interior
heart-pressure, while reaching mental insects: this last call, those last
rites, searching for something giving its courage: for ancestors are watching,
angels are plucking, and we rarely decode a stranger: so caught by violence,
such a product of dysfunction, but Love was good: such preparation, such inner
movements, about as determined as a capagen monkey…!
