…captured
by pieces, this self to winds, this frantic fever: this fission of particles,
this tinge of dolor, at mannikin insights: standing in spaces, looking for
thumps, to happen upon a costly smile: windfall agonies, sublime frustrations,
where a person is sighted: alchemic eyes, daydreaming lips, an amulet heart: to
fuse in you, to seed in dynasties, while elixir is dripping its basins: those
halo caricatures, this penetrating uneasiness, so close, so remote, so
indebted: those pictureless screams, unphysical attraction, laughing and
marinating in sins: as a dearer friend, as a lieutenant arc, such rapture, so
tender, so battled by communication: those falling swords, those forward
chimes, such splendor and feral warnings: if but to un-sense us, if but to
divest this well, if but to empty inclinations: an enchantment, an inrush, at
doctrine, Ecclesiastes, and Sophia’s graves: these trillion suitors, this
tragic beauty, while tested for resilience: accustomed to higher lights,
awestruck by pensiveness, or assuming cadence, while resonance is outstanding:
our thoughts languishing, our frontal lobes warm, our desires abated…
…fantastic
frustration, so chaste or muddy, so in-between movies—at aches, sugarcanes, and
violence: so senseless, less we dig, to find this existence: too fair to win,
too crooked to perish, while firm a nightingale: as time sits, where clocks
have died, while granny looked, ate Infinity, and crossed into blue moons:
those rhapsodic cries, those rosy tides, our base, our furniture, all afloat
this ocean surface: decorated by fashion, deceased but awakened, so damned, so
blessed, at winsome, disgusting bliss: our sickness, to envelope so deeply, as
Christ cries composure: to sit stillness, nails drilling, our modern
reenactments: this radical clarinet, this trenchant trumpet, so triumphant at
winter terrors: those intense gazes, so filled by Zen, so electric a fever and
gunning exits: at terrible frustration, at frantic beauty, so awakened and
tired: sleeping into nuances, rebuked by this nimbus, so intimate with utter
melancholia: softer perfumes, mistletoe madness, so naked, so distressed, so menacing:
those seductions, so pure with venom, a man apologizing profusely: for
indifference, or aches, or for stumbling into this closet: clicking our heels,
landing in hells, looking for one last cello….
…our
rendezvous novels, our curtsey eyes, while kneeling by travesty: enriching
passion, twine, nightmare, and daisies: our love pavilion, our playful
tortures, to sense while dying this wild country: those quilted vignettes,
those miracle letters, while sustaining something gnawing gravel: our parasol
intuition, guiding our umbrella agonies, to enter such deep injustice: this
magic land, this treasure by remorse, while some feel absolute sunshine: while Love
sat silently, a frog beckoned a kiss, wherefrom, a kingdom erupted: as Love
absconds, a wilderness chases, such a delicate, heart-wrenching ache: so
purple, this teal horizon, those brown topaz screamers: so genteel, or
something a cloak, while struggling to maintain composure: our machine
laughter, our seaquake guts, so impassioned where agony whispers: if but a
droplet, by courageous cries, beneath soil, and such a flea bite: ensouled
weeping, welted and wilted, at treacherous fires….
While
ablaze a star, rewinding hopes, reeling infractions: such a devastated soul,
smitten by tomorrows, agaze’d a star: so enflamed, too crazily, where reality
and insanity become tender relation: religious fervor, scientific calculation,
while never a dream so forbidden: to want desperation, as inclined to cleave to
lightning, abashed but steady at dying: so numbered, this welkin masterpiece,
so occasional, while cemented by disasters, where anxiety is want for a drink:
at demented closure, while needing through flame, to touch, hold and
blossom.
