I
come to senses, deflowered at nine, a grown poet: so curious to hear, so
sensitive to listen, where silence is singing: so atypical, or a typical
fascination, while communing with spirits: a soul in there, a brain simmering,
and studying voice recognition: at friends a story, at hearts but glory, so
blurry this dynasty of nonfiction: at something indelicate, at something
aggressive, while seasoned to retreat: our kleptic music, our indie arts, at incredible
passion: those fairer luxuries, those published accomplishments, this session
in Jericho: as needing networks, while condemned for such, where long,
passionate and dear relationships ring justice: but Love was decent, and Love
was conscious, and Love sung a dearer song: at an overseer, at a dramatist, at
pure theatre: so chilled in Europe, so hip in South Central, or too young to
realize transference: such séance beauty, such séance dedication, while ironing
gray matter: this flux in time, this feeling needing, while reluctant to give to
self: too quick and senseless, too seen and aborted, to forbidden and lusting:
those married castles, this feature as dancing, where such is more in private:
but helium glistened, participants panted, our souls unraveled and raveled once
the same: our mermaid daughters, our siren mothers, our treasures in cyan:
those colors, Love, as such with meaning, Love, to perish, resurrect, and met
with indecision, Love: too young for races, too mature for races, too evolved
for racists: so more to countenance, this fair gravel, this intimate pavement:
as critical creatures, at critical lives, to renegotiate once a specimen proves
his worth: our deliberate eyes, our deliberate souls, this icy renaissance:
those years in Harlem, those trips to New York, or those ghetto horizons: as
pure beauty, enlisted in tremendous, to die free flowingly: our private/public
parade, our indifferences at bay, our impassivity sipping emotion: those
elephant brains, those nuance brains, while pliers are chancing initiation: at
dreams and feudal, at pains and distant, or so close he watched and still
remained undrafted: such music, such a sensed hunch, or more a reason to
maintain differences: our colorful crashes, our opalescent pilgrimages, our
taint, our guts, or those things we dare not utter: those spouse concerns,
those web concerns, our, at times, nebbish hearts: so confessed at Mass, so
Eucharist this pain, so gutted this fiery dear God shame: but Love is sage, and
Love is soothing, and Love is aggressive: where inner secrets leak, dripping
through flesh, coming to fruition in subtle outbursts: so dreamt, such a glow,
such a feeling: to die in purple, buried in forthcomings, at transmigration
nursing at mother’s life-preserver.
I
ate a sandwich, disappearing into unbelief, a mini-psychotic: as abused with
life, hearing murmurs, as one requested this feature: at granny those years,
listening to wisdom, fury to flame and frantic: so straightly reversed, so
close afar, at casual intense sequences: our nonfiction, our dreary pains, to
feel too intently to utterly die: this mad science, this mad psych, this mad
professor: as seeing us coming, eating our hostilities, or shivering in
presence of awesomeness: our needs for expertise, our premises for excellence,
or this arete insanity: so perfect, or so human, so gifted, or so unseen: to
picture gray concrete, or to regurgitate passion, at vomit a slave to slime:
those old cameras, those old philosophies, where a man is rushing his deaths:
so many cuffs, so many bars, where one is happy to asses us: but Love was
stylish, and Love was alienated, and Love knew familiarity: this biblic
sentence, this biblic curse, while familiarity is so precious: to apologize for
this lot, to perish, rise, and nurture this inheritance: to become one
destined, to scream in furies, so flowered, so sinful, at Mass laughing and
going nutty: so eclectic, so inclusive, to sit and feel nothing: this chain in
intestines, this miracle is lilacs, those mauve sensations: to love you, as
never to meet you, where similar pains resonated.
