…out
the gate, a losing flier, a broken wildness: something whispering, something
dying, as fire is raging: a lone dog, a crazed hyena, a devastated coyote:
those tile sad-planks, this muddy gravel, as rain pours and falls and laughs:
so accustomed to chasing, lost in this fantasy, if but a warm, crazed, disobedient
womb: finding clearance, dramatic appetites, as needing too many to survive:
reading Scientology, sensing something havoc, where chaos is spreading: while
Agony beckons, and Pain soars, alert but dislodged: physical catastrophes,
bodily neediness, as attuned to something naked: our brave horizon, our gutted
phones, pleading one last departure: to think by you, to masquerade alone, to
converse with chairs in you: gestalt ravished, blue green eyes, hazel hair
complexion: dancing with grandpa, hilarious in hells, afforded one last hello:
so cut from tables, too passive to assert, but rumbling a cool explosion: those
therapy brows, those allergic sequences, seated, inebriated, crumbling to a
soft voice: this need in humans, this gutted index, this furious ice-cream
pollen: so destined to lose, so destined to placate, while others seem
accordingly: at dark secrets, at losing-winnings, while Love just lost a bet:
intimate cravings, such attention to dying, while actualized to lose: this rare
creature, this furious summer, if but three wishes to suffuse progeny….
…soft
spoken energies, a rude embrace, a fragrant fire: to adore something taken’d,
where reality is wrong, so confused it feels pure illusion: but hell to facts,
and hell to funerals, at needs and cavalier concerns: wild and crazed, obedient
and dead, or compliant and fitting criteria: to dance like singing, to sing
like radiance, while too beautiful to subject to words: this fueled fool, this
frantic fire, this flailed fury: if but to awaken, this marvelous feature, if
but to sound out phraseologies: so detoured from Love, so ached in Love, where
another popped up and spoke a feeling: as destined to curdle, or destined to
arise, where seasoning is pure confliction: our lemon salmon, our gray earth-winds,
searching and needing afflicted havens: so cursed in Ana, so alive in Heather,
so abused in Sophia: this constant test, this incessant riddle, but so
indelicate, and so engaged our bodies laugh, die, and rest in hells: such
stimulation, this old stigmata, too afraid to ask for Eternity: this machine in
ears, this language in teal, those brown tresses….
It’s
quite obvious, this tragic liquor, while courted for sanity: this man as
deceased, this language as traumatized, where polarized seems apropos: so nice
with profession, so adequate with horizon, or so appealing I had to ignore it:
our senses at one thought, our needs to procreate, while taking precautions:
those shadows, Live One, those screams, Dead One, this fury, Jasmine Cries: but
a pair of dice, but a long walk, while something rages: to sit that office, to
look at reality, to die a smidgen: this life for me, this tier for rain, those
aches and angles becoming deep messages: as long we live, as short we rise, so
attuned to something speaking foreign.
I
heard in passing, this returning casino, while furious a slot and dancing: so
tatted, so saluted, while swans chance mother’s engagements: at grandpa a
memory, at granny a chimney, so infused but ignoring this long held liaison:
those caterpillar eyes, this bone crumbling, this spine rising: to sense in Love,
a gorgeous body, as dies a purer infraction: so cut its good, so flown its
wild, where we pretend to be oblivious: this writing frenzy, this sheer
concern, while Love became a motive: a short leash, a longer socket, to infuse,
become numb, and desire something strange: such numerology, instead of random
numbers, to break each down and add singular digits.
