I
long for a cry, so dead with it, so enlove at trefoils and blenders: so reborn,
so alive, at pain, clearance, and small bodies: at life crookedly, to hurt so
deeply, while floored to sense goodness: abased and loud, momma at freebase,
those wee hours: awakened and lied to, put to sleep and lied to, at rebirths
and cried to: if but to erase a penciled impression, if but to re-drink an
inked impression, alert and fawning for entrance: our bowels, Grandma, our luck,
Uncle, our waves, Daughter: so fevered with injustice, so alarmed by dis-ease,
so unbelievable and flying: as cut to shreds, rebuilt by interior, about as
mystic as Jesus: this hard claim, this won fame, while Bishops are legitimate
to a cold empire: so lavish, so destroyed, looking for peering into something
destructive: those ruby red ravens, this phoenix plaque pirate, at Hanh a soul
too gone to sense freedom: our chains so low, our cuffs so high, our pits so
electric, plus, addictive: this endless chakra, those protruding legacies, at
tight, insensitive elements: if but a curse, reborn and laughing, while rain
runs so deeply it hovers in restless showers: abused and discarded, rewrote and
dislodged, at something so terrible sheriffs are interested: this fool, Mommy,
this old miracle, Mommy, while Mexican women have distressed a lingering soul:
so perfect, so erect, while pride and temptation explodes into freeway
rivalries: so adored, so catered, where diamonds are of little significance: to
pass through violets, to adore peace, where havens are thrust with violence:
those silent bodies, those loud bodies, while love appeared inappropriate: too
Nebraska, so icy, to finally lay lips upon a secret monument: this hectic
sentence, this craved reality, where Love is just too damn escapable: such a
riddle, while deep in veins, where it felt death to tongue a mirror: our past
lives, our secret hells, where a man will die to tell your horizon: a shifty
dead man, a shifty living man, while too disgusted a close soul: so thrown into
it, so at those brains, while Love said by submission: this crazed maniac, at
guts to die pretty, while hating guts for no reason but aliveness: our penchant
cuts, our pensive truths, if but to something so contagious.
I
give for that, languishing in mud for that, while his life is consumed by
hurting his sensei: this miracle mile, this freeway helicopter, our grains in
golden roots: this cedar tree, this oaken attraction, while Love is carving
invisibility: our first rites, our last omega, while something cataphatic
is chandelier’n: our intricate language, while too evolved, where a real friend
preserves your guts: running into another’s paths, chasing another’s dreams,
and claiming sincerity: a fool man, a dead man, while sensei moves towards
greater horizons: a petite maniac, a laughing dung talker, a serious,
sophisticated, conglomerate woman: so chilled rite this second, so laughing
into ceilings, where it feels good to exist in belief: so panicky at moments,
so alive those drillings, while Love is feeling pure anger: that soul’s voice,
those dreary clouds, while confidants destroyed something immortal: if but for
another, to rekindle flames, if but to apologize, fall to Love, and live like
sweaty glands.
…so
incandescent, so glorious, or so close to our Paraclete’s soul: so fired at
night, our souls rumbling, our guts screaming, to feel such redeeming heat:
this secret in couples, to know it takes initiative, it requires a celestial
key: so infused, so suffused, at ethereal claims: so alive in me, so dead to
life, while giving unto resurrection: this brimming film, this fretting cup,
where a man would lie towards Infinity to destroy confidence: those panicky
seconds, while so alert, to hurt and die where electricity fears to tread: our
miracle emotion, our terminal frustration, as rebuilt, revving skies, to drop
into something satanic….
