…embalmed
and vocal, angelic at arts, so resurrected and flying: so destroyed, so enlove,
such agony, gristle, and bone: too floored, too deceased, while dying to
escape: bold flowers, redeemed grannies, at uncle so late into friction: an
aunty monsoon, a cousin tornado, while life spoke riddles: at curse and grit, a
kite swan, a kitchen mentality: to cook, bake pies, and flutter metaphorically:
so charged these days, so infused to win, while many are hoping for longevity:
a torn paradox, a radiant contradiction, while life is fifty-fifty: those
running coyotes, those friendly wolves, at Batman but Robin afraid to lose:
wildfire, or wildlife, or wiggly lines: so straight those months, so at Love
those years, while sudden a feeling and deviating: such symmetry, or
asymmetrical, while we die a turquoise horizon: such sky pressure, such moral
pressure, such gold fueled and laughing cartoons: a place in guts, a place in
Calypso, if but to share something at dynamite: so pantomime, frozen in
mid-motion, while breaking free for children: those bright, brilliant,
beautiful eyes, those envious grins, at desert, desserts, and direction: so
feudal we are, and dying our scars, aborted for miseducation: but life is
roses, and roses are petals, and petals are metaphors: such arithmetic, looking
but thinking, while Love appeals but currents are clogged: at Urania, split in
casualties, as parts have become thinking vessels: that black moon, those dead
ferns, at tumbleweeds and aggravated: to call through Infinity, to pause come
Thanksgiving, or to perish, resurrect and receive little interests: this red
tide, those broken seas, or this wilderness forcing its impression: while alert
to science, but plagued by science, a fool a dream a polite savant: hither, we
shift, at sky-ballet, or dreary beliefs, cut for gutted so ruined and but a
trope: as bled high-rises, while buildings sunk low, at Atlantis a child
without a swan: so evicted, so cursed, while rumination wasn’t amicable: those
tyranny blues, this B.B. King, at saxophone, Jesus, plus, Yahweh—to no avail,
and losing conviction, where one claims Jesus and kills his children….
I
adored sight, I blazed a cigar, I looked into mother: so confirmed, so
dysfunctional, such rage and beauty and chaos: to adore dysfunction, at
something irregular, as a pair of cheaper jeans: so scrambled, so unique, to
spot a spade: stippled in static, afraid to breathe, such spectrum speckled
with survival: this ghetto charm, this instinct to die, while threshed for
adjusted wiggling out from poverty: at bluer moons, so indebted to a second
Love, where souls are quite insistent: at auto-correctness, fueled by
indifference, so gone with miscalculations: such luminosity, such Illuminati
thoughts, while becoming this chased adventure: so cured in parts, so destroyed
in parts, at serious thoughts concerning grandfathers: this special event, this
impasto, or those horrifying decisions: so cursed, or so blessed, while a man
dies that others may live: so indecent, but pure reality, where a man needs a
daughter: to dance and laugh and cry and shift, specialized in deliverance:
dripping reality, wet with functionality, a bit too cursed to survive.
…a bit
dreary, a bit confidential, and rereading Rumi: so inclined to live, so
inclined to perish, while a man would pause for a Persian creature: those
ripples, this design, those Twitter accounts: indeed, laughing out loudly, or
tearing his intestines, at blank sacrifices: exhausting insights, an
unquenchable spirit, while eating nonsense: as rarely freedom, and more
serfdom, where a man drinks, escapes, and returns: (too gorgeous for games, a
fool has lied, plus, pain isn’t terrific: well too aware, this liar in men,
this need for a season: our deprived loins, our shameful desires, as once there
we soon escape: indeed, too fancy for truths, too provocative for actuality,
but damn near too perfect to resist): immortal harms, our forever lives, and
cut fire…!
