…small
hankerings, enormous divisions, pieced together: at higher flames, at underpinning
frustration, while we praise securities: our reasoning, our supported hunches,
our screams: by dungeon lights, by dungeon cries, so affectionate it aches:
those colored coats, this endless reaching, so remarkable, such visage, loving
less than iguanas: so empty, so addictive, such amazing theatrics: a
centerpiece, at center stage, so indifferently enlove: while nothing to give,
with life to extract, accustomed to mineral water: too perfected, surrounded by
jealousy, while softly those sweet eyes: our fevered pains, our distorted
throne, such knights by swords—such substance by reigns: at deep comforts, even
uneasy desire, willing, waiting, but waning: flowing fire gowns, scented life
hearts, so intended for glorious sin: so flirtatious, rekindled with pain, so
fresh in art, so mural to blue demons, aflame, abrupt and running: those
decreasing stairs, this ceiling safe, at red goblin diamonds: those attics,
such for rescue, to die, sectioned in revolution, so French, so symphonic: so
awake, in Kingdom’s Arms, neatly giving humbled fruits….
…interior
mirrors, or helter-skelter, such skeleton and marrow: foggy windows, black
days, or Black Mary: immortalized, framing insanity, unleashed and angry:
surprised to see you, at haste to apologize, while received as vinegar: such
drama, searching humanity, so prompted, so outward, forced into seclusion: so
young, so precocious, so destroyed: to blast his brains, to re-gut his liver, a
nine year old guzzling vodka: so sickly, so stripped, so naked at baptism: our
crazed hypotheses, this hungry ass child, so slow, so underdeveloped, so
nonsensical: but Love is heaven, and Love is nice, plus, Love gave us cookies:
this image, this scream, this adult lasciviousness for a reflection: so
subconscious, so liquid, or too unreal to give necessity: affected by you,
indebted to you, and here’s a used yacht—or restructured tentacles: turn us
out, flip our intestines, reuse and abuse our brains: engulf me, whelm this
fool, exhaust zeal replaced with intimacy: become Mary, plus, Calypso, plus, a
Librarian: sense deaths, speak to life, re-accustomed and blaming society: so
sickly, such a vault, while charged a good night to fire….
…those
old skies, those singing hominids, our grunts, our reproduction: to imagine
years, examining bodies, to realize it goes there: such a good feeling, such a
crazed response, while tripping over bones: our sabertooth meals, our fruits
with berries, to wonder concerning those plantings: our medicine roots, our
carving utensils, our anthropology: our primitive behavior, our violent
amygdala, to happen upon sophistication: those rare creatures, those indicative
genetics, while one needs our children: so floored by one, so enlove with
mother, or shot to hell looking at something forbidden: reluctant for me, but
at tides for wildness, while destroyed by behaviors: our achy indifference, our
terminal gash, while wrestling lion’s for Love: stitching materials, by sheer
intuition, or running from strange animals: this museum warfare, those wafting
scents, while thrown by something normal: our wilderness education, where souls
feel pride, while incorrect we produce poets: this inner novel, this running
memoir, at something considered classical: our deep hunches, to imagine caves,
while one formed language: this genetic cycle, one inherits, where others are
unrevealed: such trial with error, such organic attraction, to become something
natural: our sewn restrictions, our controlling angst, where Love assisted in
construction: so cavalier, rules for them, if but our cavelike contention: but
if light is absent, where rules are broken, than nobody will ever know: at
graves for love ones, at fires this feeling, where it must be this tree: our
sights determining our feelings, our bodies so foreign, our habits so vicious:
but Love is so this, or so that, as before love, we knew possession….
