I
gaze by yonder, at terrific skies, at incredible dreams: applied but slanted,
exaggerated but honest, at boundless memories: so precious those arts, so
entangled our screams, but miracles seeping into existence: untold passion,
relived depression, at something quite casual: our machinery, our bodies, our
abandoned hopes: found but depleted, engraved but running, while reality gave
birth: a deathless tale, a deathless intrigue, while souls contradict such
fire: roaming jungles, picturing cats, at stars those late nights, so intimate
at cries, so defenseless by love, where life became in total silence: such
incarnation, such resurrection, so here, so forgetful, by a natural
recollection: drifting those days, streaming freezers, so frozen, so warm, so
disgusted: this plight in minds, those interior councilmen, so reluctant to put
hives to sleep: if but our eyes, combed in liquids, those dreams in Cinemax: a
bit prosaic, a bit with rain, while Love was terrified to find life: needing an
auspice, or needing auguries, at august shadows: those reluctant angers, this
flippant wind, where Love ached and died and finally flew south: but nights
were shivering, and constellations were haywire, while anxiety poked and dashed
and claimed our guts: this man with issues, this umbrella with problems, while
one is mislead: asking, but devastated, for it must be liquor, where a man
writes until ink becomes promiscuous: those happy vines, this elated irony, or
such joyous agonies: as cut from sources, abandoned to woods, where passion
infuriates its subjects.
…such
token symbols, if but a woman’s grit, at signs and chaos and dying by scents:
wafting candlelight, ignited displeasure, while fumbling into America: our
Native screams, our abandoned children, while mother was exonerated: for it
couldn’t be, this extraordinary life, as something harmful to every touch: a
sweltering vision, a misty cloud, at erotic roses: or wild wood, and climatic
roots, so chained, so cursed, and nothing compares: this frank hell, this
candid death, at miracles but slipping grasps: those restored mirrors, those
restored windows, but tales told justice: an interior upsurge, a frightened
damsel, at courts and bars and scattered to zephyrs: such a close friend, those
days at pillows, as if it was put to rest: our fair creature, a timbal at
forest, a mental auger, or unstructured sutures: this windmill, those dingoes,
or this observant coyote: at pastel veils, at crazed libraries, or rehearsing
Power Points: those sexy librarians, or this mean ass lawyer, while souls
believe in idols: this walking talisman, those empty charms, while one knew for
dishonesty: our candy coated ears, our cotton promises, at love and life and
disappearing….
It
was mystic belief, such a hunch, unaware of dynasties: a clear mistake, a
ruined image, a gutted war: I spoke of daughter, they spoke of riches, it was
plain to witness: a mis-identity, from a deceptive grin, where Love pictures a
vase: indeed, this castle crumbling, this father oblivious, this lie at
nineteen years gunning: as never a thought, glazing over inconsistencies, about
as inquisitive as a sloth: re-listening, hearing rumors, so sliced, so ousted,
while speaking of true love: a friend’s laughter, a miracle to escape, even
more, a miracle to maintain a positive image of women: back to harvest, as
required to minister, while at sin like ministry: our magic waning, our lies
crowing, our vines as internal cameras: our slumping spirits, our decrepit
sincerity, where abed we shift and turn meditating wickedness: a clearer
picture, while feeling restless, needing at least one victim a day: traffic
ridges, sealed potholes, and we suggest life is perfect: so cantankerous, such
a downpour, while angry at a stranger: repeated sacrifice, making good for
another man, while dreams are sold to something we can’t have: at terrible
feelings, at terrible curses, while needing one to believe in: at tragic eons,
a drumbeat castle, so abrupt, so cautious, while too much becomes isolation: a
bit critical, a bit of a mountain, while thirsty to rewrite those tablets: oops,
and oops a person’s dreams, while screaming profanities.
