…morning dew, our
moist rugs, so many routine hugs: this old track, this new feeling, to hail a
cab: those mesmerizing steps, that voice-filled room, alert to granny’s moods:
to enter life, determined to succeed, or appreciative of controversy: this fragile
training, this college execution, somewhere in New York feeling uncomfortable:
such bad luck, like a nickel to die, or a palm of fur: this plane ride, looking
at something cute, but removed from lights: our deep delusion, to ignore
everything, and decide this is living….
Love agonized game,
couldn’t sit still, so determined to remain hidden: I felt likeness, this same
affliction, attempting to perfect a mental image: this palm of lint, this
casual pride, plus, purely messed around: I thought about fire, I discovered
fire, I was tested thrice: to imagine this world, at magic passion, as
something felt good those habits: so lost those days, removed from life, or
courted by a flaming fancy: but time was absent, minutes were destroyed, and
art was mangled: such young development, running passed chaos, while years’
projected this future encounter: those crying fumes, this ceiling-fan, this
hospital bed: this tactical psych, his sorrowing eyes, to watch spirit walking
his body: at deeper secrets, as opposed to leaving us crazy, Mr. Distance revealed an Island: so indebted, spinning
through traffic, again a fugitive so near to discoveries: our baffled brains,
our reversed paragraphs, or those reasons we fly:
…so lost those months, depending
upon miracles, so charged, so irrelevant, but abandoned to created promises: at
something fictional, but giving me life, as if I needed such fantasy: enough to
dying, at softer whispers, while so gone and afraid to cross paths: our
midnight luxuries, this vanilla wafer, at something attached but detached: such
contradiction, both viable sides, so meditated, at electrical damages: my
bruised flesh, my deeper tissues, while so close I needed freedom: arriving
unknowingly, restricted through observation, so afar from this pantomime
insanity: but Love was gentle, so harsh he decided, so afraid of passion: so
close to culture, so appreciative of culture, so homogenized, so professional:
I saw foreign, at least to ghettoes, or something akin to Aunty: so evolved, so
educated, so casual this life: or hectic pain, rounder eyes, such flesh
grieving our lives: those psychiatric gestures, this one feature, as god bowed
and shed his dynamite: this island of army ants, this leaf lying manipulation,
at something seeming too ordinary: our inquisitive eyes, those walking habits,
while asked a question greeted with fire: such reaching disdain, such
hyperactivity, so contained, so island, at Love with sheer distance: as
attitude allows, this space for contention, our minds running rabidly: sad
secretary or holy attire; rescued syndromes; or selectivity deciding upon its
target: but Love was old-fashion beauty, a passé insult, but more appealing
than riches: to struggle forever, this deep complaint, where lovers die time
again those lights: at something organic, or something climatic, while rising
through patterns: those slight differences, this psychological mind-print, as
alone a sudden jolt—to call frantically, to learn by misfortune, our eyes so
opened those seconds: but Love was fairer intellect, extreme intuition, so
affected by a stream of disappointments…by southern years, speaking clearly,
devoid of self—at panic this van, at guts and ruined, or slug to shoulder
gripping pavement: while Love was anxious, sensing spirit, but more, one a bit
suspect—those volatile tendencies, this perfect stranger, while thoughts were
self-conscious: at flower mists, at bees buzzing, at something so far his
mind—this mid-ocean ridge, those seas with gods, while too many have fallen for
Artemis….
We tarnish impressions,
while depending upon false perception, or we land in something which promises
more than we’re giving: life is so different, our orientation decides so much,
while addiction plagues through antiquity: a certain disposition, or genetic
diagrams, or plain influence: so ill-advised, so ill-prepared, where we expect
everyone behaves as we have experienced: this home of activity, this primary
source, this kingdom represents our universe: such false enlightenment, such
abrasive beauty, while one deceives this strange mirror: so taken by nuances,
so enlove with figurines, while unsaid persons yearn for something exotic: our
migrant hearts, our bloody trains, our oxymoronic assessments.
