…so
inclined to adore, something seeming senseless, agonizing over gestures: so
unphysical, so mental, such pain sung to choirs: at hell laughing, if but for
sanity, occasioned to perish: jasmine lizards, at this vestibule door,
knocking, insisting, while something is naïve: our plural arts, our postmodern
hearts, where something so deep passes its legacy: if but to parish in you, if
but to escape in you, where life is seen through Adam’s gaze in you: so
furious, so penchant, at dearer survival: this screaming abyss, this luxurious
planet, where your eyes determine our moods: such intimacy, such ironic
diamonds, where ants become undertakers: if but your honesty, I could deal with
deaths, while life becomes so regular: as men cringing, or women trying, so
afforded this nonchalance: our nostrils screaming, our sickness flushed, our
mentors feeling inadequate: as primate creatures, familiar with persons, so much
as to die happiness: our bouncing thoughts, reminded about yesteryears, so
sakata, so inherited, or so founded looking into crystals: those penguin eyes,
those iguana eyes, those gecko cries—as men adoring you, as men ingratiating
you, even as men losing you: so perfect, so sensual, so classic but
animalistic: this sameness claim, this tender voice, our phobias, our phrenic
lights, our split psyches: if but to live, as afforded your curse, where a
woman adores one man: so sweet, so gorilla, so anti-simplicity—those shimmering
sufferings, those collapsed our lungs, so rebuked, so televised, while movies
express our chains: this genius mermaid, our inherited daughters, so darkened,
so polite, while disposition rages by grandparents: those lemur tentacles, our
silverback calmness, our orangutan attitudes: as bendable creatures, so
equipped to negotiate, while poly-amorous: goose grass, clumps of sensations,
or sediment intuition: to arrive with you, to adore you, while stressed to
inhale you: our gnawing souls, eating cypress leaves, or debating mnemonic
devices: so attuned to patience, so there that second, while afraid to admit
curiosity….
It
was icy meetings, infused thoughts, or an effusion of probabilities: to cuss in
us, to laugh with us, or to casual a feeling in us: re-pictured and giggling,
statuesque and naïve, or a plaintiff arguing for sexuality: this brain
computer, these words as gentle, while Love agonizes over claims: such a
beautiful monster, our bonobo genetics, while we wrestle with completion: so
born to exist, our peacekeeping tactics, while something is lingering: to have
for satiation, to gather figs, where one suggests that passing argument: so
accused of madness, but Love is our season, such nutshell aggravation: if but
to extend, as a willow in sin, where it felt like heaven to adorn your soil:
this perfect itch, those perfect scratches, where Love felt motivated.
I
close those feelings, while haunted by those feelings, in duress concerning
more feelings: this acacia tense, this woodblock statute, so accursed, roaming
this island of theologians: a bit secular, looking into distress signals, too
familiar with a casual goodbye: our souls abashed, our minds ashamed, while
humans, quite possibly, are fighting a winning cause: sachet papers, briefcase
anxieties, our ties so tight we topple: those denims, this feeling, our
systematic attacks: for men are animals, where souls are lustful, plus, sex was
permitted for procreation: our tingling sensorium(s), our misplaced hankerings,
too cursed to exist.
Our
low rankings, or this camerawoman, including an identic memory: so coarse with
time, so challenged by vines, so appealing, so sick, so deliberate: at future
frustration, our prophetic happenstance, while we tell our stories: so explored
in you, so to abscond from you, but memories haunt solidifying you.
