…sky-foam
fires, exterior form, brush, painter and art: infuriating pictures, mirrored
consciousness, where life becomes repeated: a sadder song, at pure reflection,
afraid to answer self-portraits: at conversation, or deep teal eyes, roaming
our Getty guts: to sense passion, to adore myths, to educate an empire: softer
courses, blatant whys, too informed to listen: burgundy carpets, for
dungeon and knight, torn by deep reception: those bathhouse widows, those foggy
airwaves, at science, religion, and spirit….
It
becomes a feeling, looking into shadows, while indifference plays its part:
something deliberate, as if correcting, particular behaviors found excessive:
to demand certain patterns, while becoming attitudinal, as if one must comply:
where smart is good, if administered accordingly, while rudiments are lodge at
invisibility: tempered reality, interior maps, while one is forced to guess:
subjected to behaviors, looking at intrusiveness, while such behavior is
vindicated: “I need to afflict, so it’s right, and pardoned by conscienceness”:
such black dust, such dusky atmosphere, while one stands amid a tornado: as
some sort of hell, where others must repent, while one is oblivious to his sin:
indeed, omission has occurred, where one has an inkling, but such, if
established firmly, becomes more to observation than maliciousness.
I
met a flower; I pruned sensitivities; and I was blessed with reciprocation: so
inward with passion, so outward with frustration, but Love was uncanny and
sociable: harbored expectations, a flare for fabulous, and a need for
exaggerated fawning: at higher standards, but a bit those lows, at something
eating her interior: this fragile flower, this yenning for motherhood, while
addicted to admiration: this repeated film, this lack of insight, while
determined to reap vengeance: it was delightful those terms, while both
realized and murky, so dedicated to living her adventures: beyond greenhorn
status, refurbished by men, while expecting complete loyalty: so curt those
seconds, so confused those minutes, while quite arbitrary.
I
observe behavior—this field of expectation, where we behave in sequences: so
aloof, at deep passivity, where normality is afflicted: but deliberate
affliction, is different than exact observation, where one is normal to suggest
deliberateness: while needed to behave, where one is poking, indeed, one is
trying to control another person: flustered, even frustrated, while we need so
little from one another: a little here, a tad bit there, and our dealings are
complete.
…something
broke exterior, by a pile of laundry bags, while it’s evident our signs are
lethal: this brilliant machine, or this rising poet, our disgusts for something
indicative of souls: so inclined to break strengths, so purposed to misinterpret,
if but to offset this creature: so indicative of angst, a particular
laisser-faire, so hands-off, so mellow, while it distresses an audience: but
what about pride, superior displays, or out-and-out behavior to trigger
inferiority complexes: it puzzles me—how a person is considered dregs, where
another person tries hard to reject unsaid person: if but to disavow, if but to
point to a particular symbol, while forced to behave accordingly—where this, too, is demeaned: (if a person is unappeasable, how die to appease them, where a
person is mostly unpleasant: years at this, as never a breakthrough, while one
is cordial ending our seconds with something disdainful): indeed, a bit too
critical, or a bit too prideful, or something slipping the poet’s grasp: but we
must look closer, and we must decipher, while listening to our intuition: for
if one acts ugly, while seeing this behavior, that one cannot expect anything
but resistance….
