We
pet elephants, becoming sycophants, or dying with grace: so treasured, so
adored, so secondary: charmed by sophistication, an absolute paradox, to look,
yearn for, or totally ignore: tragic daylight, travesty arts, or tainted
aesthetics: to request passion, to receive attraction, while ironing something
scientific: those legs moving, this window musing, our tiles dictating: such
diction, such panicky responses, or such defensive arrogance: to praise
fiction, to live nonfiction, while approached by fantastical thoughts: to
desire you, to need you, while unsure if I could keep you: our silent trips,
our silent novels, or rewritten novellas: to hear wrath, to kiss wrath, while
becoming wrath: to use reasoning, to reuse agonies, or to appeal to a
talkative, nonchalant, and incapable seashore: seagulls gawking, pavement
steaming, piers laughing: years in, and years out, while traveling a mile
towards deceased: a casual, tacit, or conscious man: a poet-writer, a
prose-poem creator, a soul deeply so frightened: fearing our Grand Soul, enlove
with our Resonant Spirit, wondering where we differ from Christ: belts aside,
so pragmatic, while a tad bit epistemic: this fight for certitude, this wheel
demanding faith, while faith visits secular circles: (to war with you, to die
in us, so casual as our days end: fevered to apologize, or needing full
recognition, while in every canto there’s at least two participating: an
antagonist, a protagonist, plus, a narrator: so accustomed to Buddhists Sutras,
while granny is anti-casualties, where something drags and languishes and
approaches its altar): blue shivers, black dragons, eagle diamonds: at Love and
sick, at Love and joyous, where many do not have a clue: this mate thing, this
friend thing, where souls become too knitted: my happiness those smiles; your misery
my moods; plus, many have something indestructible eating their intestines:
this warzone, this battle cry, this raging, sensitive, mostly aggressive
winner: our eyes revving, our engines to guts, our feelings flying: our dreams
in caskets, our remorse in baskets, our screams echoing into energies: so moved
by literature, so attuned to majesties, while needing something a bit
mysterious: our soul-bars, our intelligence-jars, at something perceived as
both hope and indestructability: our winds casted, our balloons floating, our
minds needing something to instruct existence: to give passion, while
retrieving guidance, where two may fit for a century: (so late to living, so
early to dying, while too religious to make much aggression): but Love was
glorious, and Love was magic, while Love was too attuned to witnessing: this
tiring ache, this chasing moon, as aloof to something dearly adored.
I
sit at core, a tiny occurrence, this interior zoo: cheetahs pant, deer are
watchful, shrews are running frantically: as imagining content happiness, in
this world chasing, where nothing up and nothing down might be contentment: our
boredom or meditation, our pain or development, or our holiness or palms of
earth: at something decent, at something firstly innocent, while we ask several
questions: to witness our eyes, to touch their foreheads, to feed at mother’s
nest: so late those mornings, so early those nights, while discovering books
are beauty: replaced in souls, learning violin, or tinkering with granny’s
piano: inheriting moods, discovering pet-peeves, or casually sipping mother’s
wisdom: our pliers to knowledge, our invisible intuition, or those wrenching
suggestions: our arcs combining, our hearts meshing, our dispositions gelid by
experience: as captivating readers, at avid salvation, possessing an ability to
understand commonalities: studying self, in order to locate others, while
conflicting over myriad distinctions: seated at tables, looking at silverware,
nudging our recollection: so seasoned to exist, where first encounters puzzle,
while feeling too familiar with life: our tastes changing, our needs
complicated, our battles universal.
