We
live shadows, at greater grandmothers, explored, baffled, at adder venom:
aborted to existence, afire burning in ice, at bone, grit, and purgatory: those
kangaroo eyes, perfected and extreme: this courage to live, this pensive
feeling, at churns and guns and metaphoric anxieties: rereading Sophia, regrouping
tendencies, at lakes upside-down: such pouring rage, such poverty hunger, such
orphan yearnings: at limestone, bathing with bricks, or running but
sandpapered: aloof to life, for life is hectic, while closeness rivals completeness:
seabed sediments, or lively angst, a man a manic smile: so precious in
thoughts, so courteous with sorrow, or too damn apologetic: indeed, roots and
vines and raven mechanics: under-heart caves, underwater ancestors, ships and
boats and chains: to happen a sight, this radical miracle, to reassess
everything examined: at purple gravel, sainted guts, or therapy whooping ass:
so gray those days, a bag with laughs, gifted enough to cheat happiness: this
Bentley curse, this Gucci disguise, at women, at wonder, at wax: reminiscing
those scars, sensing unreality, at gnarms and dingoes and shame: horns flaring,
Love watching, while commonsense has escaped its posts: so battled, so frantic,
plus, too many realizations concerning vague shadows: to adore a fever,
to die a fever, while afflicting your fever: wallowing lowly, rebooted and
screaming, as if Jesus has defogged America.
We live grayness, abused by memories, while a mirror screams at
intensions: a badger laughs, our trees are volcanic, our tears are acidic: pour
into me, a living miracle, so loved, so adored, so incapable: churning asphalt,
nurturing an ant, while said ant becomes Goliath: silky tones, Kenya cries, so
mahogany and integrated—those road runners, this favorite kiss, those baked
calves: such seduction, a man seeing crookedly, while betrayals are pacified:
so inclined to float, so restored but dead, at life so shook and scarred: a bit
ruined, attempting newness, while agony becomes such reasons: at dreaded ashes,
or raving smaze, while soot has flooded our chimney: if but to plant, or but to
sew, where others have reaped of our harvest: a diluted temperament, a shaved
gallery, while we tug backwards: drifting through passages, re-scribbling our
altitudes, amplified and screaming.
…ebbing
illusions, or letting illusions waft, while tender a curse affected by
illusions: those artful palms, that scratching voiceprint, or those euphonic
lungs: as never such ecstasy, or ever a challenger, at this championed
campaign: those dream curves, those forced conceptions, while tugged abroad
fretting for familiarity: at love with life, at undercurrent lights, so
seasoned, at under-clouded freedom: our bodies with disbelief, our nights with
something caged, while said freedom has delivered its prison: re-walked and
stuttering, repaired and needing assessment, or fixed, and so fixed—lightning
has damaged our brains: that curious, say yes person—at agonies and avenues,
torn, cursed, and abandoned: such wrinkled atmosphere, staring intently, to
agree with something devastating: our probed departments, our courtship
miseries, while a man has become quite controlling: this freedom air, where
freedom means secure, while sudden possessiveness means one is uncertain: this
letting live, this letting go, this tragic mansion: charged by music, or
laughed at quickly, while something but found his imp….
It just
struck light—this faceless person, where reality is screaming: this tale in
deaths, this pulling in reverse, to sense a plan levitating: a bit terrific, a
bit in my sink, a tare torn where misery tarries: so welcomed to feel it, so
concerned to live it, while reality is shaking at freedom-chains: our fair
exchange, that eerie feeling, where whatness becomes thatness: this link in
tendons, those horses galloping, where intuition restores opportunity.
