…at
love crookedly, at vice pleading, Mercy, aflame a night-gong: too many
ingredients, too much gumbo, while traveling southern weather: too infused, by
a delicate second, at love and honor and disobedience: such sweet nectar, such
peach fruit, at pomegranates and motherly kindness: so controversial, so
tainted by Love, as agonized as a badger: at tender softness, to realize tender
hell, such weeping ash: our glorious intakes, our California paperwork, our
required signatures: fevered for encounter, screaming at buses, amid at
Crenshaw traffic: butt booty naked, attempting to redeem intakes, while America
has become cruel: our flipped furniture, our frozen steaks, a man attempting to
cook invisibility: too seasoned for taste, too salty for puppies, or too
venomous for cobras: striking regardless, harnessed and rehabilitated, while
released to vultures: so delectable, so raw to senses, speaking in tongues: so
cursed to die, so alive those seconds, to obtain with this want to harbor: but
graves are watching, plots are passionate, where tombstones are electrified: an
interior wound, a mobile heartsore, so incredible and denying Jesus: fueled for
combat, at achy valleys, and so many tarred dreams: to perish making love, to
come to those points, looking at rebuked aesthetics: a free prison, a freedom
war, while restricting behavior: at hay-fever, or bodily temperature, those
diamonds, those furs—and such outlandish caricatures: those cartoons, those
webs, those incredible neck-bites: so filled for lies, so rotten for
skyrockets, but ever a delicate, remorseful, quasi-honest creature: our wakes
so internal, our arts so inflexible, to have noticed a feeling a presence so
involved: soul-partners, so faint a nightmare, at trance meters, overloading
Fahrenheit—billed for injustice, wrestling with spirits, at rung and staircase:
those anguish-valves, by sheer bliss, while a man forgets his
inhibitions….
I’ve
said to mountains, such reaming evidence, and I’ve uncaged an encaged bird: I’ve
passed through, those portals in time, given a life sentence to Existence: I’ve
ached and groaned, in gut-moans, afraid and petrified to fail: I’ve made
unredeemable promises, in this quick land, where a promise should have a date:
a smaller issue, at inebriated tissue, a bit abused by self-portraits: infused
by Love, refused and delicate for Love, while so in Love our hearts are one: so
prior to deaths, those immortal traits, while a man is selling a contract: it
depends upon you, it dies in you, it is upheld by reality: if but to atone, so
draped in curtains, while peeking into America: our baffled arcs, our recited
orchards, or fleece and crimson, and Scarlet Letters: those few dreams, while
preoccupied, but a brain to storms: such alcohol, or too much honesty, where a
sage destroys his image: those few, in-sparked, and dynamic women: as so many,
such relic arts, our segue into abstracts: those macaques gunning, those
fool-hearted regulators, so appealing this light too much of an effusion: to
re-tame an ancient vehicle, or to un-tame a violent provocateur, so cursed to
need submission where outrage is so engulfing: those revving cries, those
railing heavens, such unraveled hemp: but a scream in motion, but a series of
faces, where each bursts forward from one face: this running into, this pulling
backwards, while floored for anti-science.
…such
hourglasses, such Metropolitan exhibits, at such fairer senses: or one so
special, as infused by lightning, but too complicated to re-ravel: our cannibal
high-pressures, our remarkable feelings, as fused for battles: those
high-rises, those outlandish kisses, while frustrated by irremovable patience:
to dance in apricot, to envelope in fennel, so accustomed to Karma’s Valleys:
as pure confliction, or untold affliction, so cursed for warfare, plus, adoring
such passion: such mire, such mud, such maniac, and radical addiction….
