Universality

…quite irritable hearts, charity and disappointment, plus, too many confessions: a gifted soul, a moral soul, haunted by inconsistencies: needing existence, those first sparks, those sessions as absolute sensations: to die rivers, attempting something American, while America has become stressed: our impatience, our interior paintings, so chemic, so lost, so susceptible: because we need pash, if but to believe, as angelic creatures: but life is crude, and life is rude, and we placate unto nausea: our best friends, our determined spouses, our careers, our religions, our children, while existence, too, is tugging: plus, mother is dying, and farther follows, and life has become insufferable: that old cliché, as not given much, but if survival, who lays claim to survival?: indeed, damn near blasphemy, in this world of roses, while each has felt a loving concern: so disregarded, so torn asunder, at conscious bars marinating in angst: such irritability, so many aspects, while phones are ringing: those commercial faxes, this mental photographer, those old bruises, thereto, our absent grandparents: so tacit at points, so public a cry, while debating this comfort in souls: our children as weapons, our families as addicts, or so inclined as so rigid and claiming invisibility: a higher nostril, a deigning ladder, while so removed it must be hell: a bit irritable, a bit flustered, a bit frustrated: at something esoteric, while reading into sources, while one feels a bit naïve: but Love is herself, and Love is this mystery, and Love is waiting in silence: this writing element, this sober element, this perfect family ten miles north of here: those weeds blooming, while harvest craves, where one is a bit inquisitive: a private and contrite heart, an element to smile heartedly, and this trenchant ability to see self: as hard upon mirrors, while pushing too far, where one admits to self-reflection: this daring space, this darling daughter, while a bit too concerned: only to live it, only to survive it, while one suggests, otherwise: this replayed film, this deep agitation, while many become ghetto heroes: so gothic at lights, such a mysterious nightmare, while Love and I depended upon something we didn’t tillage: those fairer cries, this fairer island, while shook and burnt and souls are craving….     It becomes irritability, or applied wisdom, as so instructed: it becomes a woman’s aura, as so investigated, while struggling a needy complex: at inferiority, or tender outrage, pleading for, My Amore: such deeper rapture, as so inclined a Sunday morning, while fever and anxiety and pain rolled together into a missile: our undeveloped abilities, our cautious sorrow, while so hurt, but so dismissive, where reality is waging war: or something I believe in—those rare creatures, while I’ll dismiss that thought: for life is hectic, and simplicity is shaky, while true existence is quite reflexive: this irritable state, those fervent souls, while we hate something tugging at our insecurities: indeed, we don’t discuss it, we don’t see it, and we damn sure don’t question it: that simplicity thing, or that tumor thing, or that irritable bowels thing: such fervor for passion, satiated and silent, or raving and unsighted: at striking confusion, at groping walls, while reflecting upon Isaiah: something so vivid, at Jeremiah’s pit, while feeling quite effected: those radiant commentaries, as standing upon tradition, so mystically anti-mystic: a sure conundrum, in this ardent splinter, our wildfire hearts shunned by certain doors: to read it closely, entitles inclusivity, while souls are monopolizing Jesus: our demarcations, our plain ignorance, while a close read includes everyone: such irritability, such a torn feeling, while angered concerning human commodities: our cashmere coats, our human furs, or children worshipping currency: this rant and rave, this silent portrait, at something requiring too much: so gelid at times, as cold and breezy, while a deep fact I’ll keep to self: but Love was light, and Love was reckless, and Love noticed an absence of excitement: notwithstanding, Love relished, and Love dined, and Love had a particular fetish.     …so lost at skies, such sailing seas, both awakened and drowsy: alert to an inert feeling, while composition flies, or something tugs at moments: to walk those paths, to narrow those gates, while life is losing participants: a latent curse, or a developed miracle, while such passion must scream its rivers: so numb at seconds, looking and nodding, or sure to a particular misery: those few ingredients, those few people, while certain elements chase us from person to person: something quite intricate, as we must reflect, while negotiating merits: therewith, we wonder plainly, concerning those positions, we wish to evaluate: at bolder oceans, or cascading waterfalls, where something indelicate is eating our minds: those interior states, this interior magnet, while inclined to dismiss humanity: at irritability, or unchartered terrain, a bit disappointed with our ability to erase futures….