…dreaming
in turquoise, screaming in jasper, so accursed to adore you: filming insanity,
negotiating our terms, holding to something unconventional: great projection,
indebted perception, while attracted, even smitten by sandy roses: those
archetypes, building our sanctuaries, but unraveled dynamite: so auburn, so
blond, or such nappy, well pressed, raven mane: tugged gently, pushed into
survival, afraid of becoming damaged: to protect essence, we languish softly,
while Love is quite aggressive: to know a man’s psyche, to exist as
irresistible, roaming collective sensuality: so consciously unconscious, such a
breeding shadow, while etching out perfection: as dead men, brought to life,
while encouraged to sing: those purple sentences, this purple evasiveness, or
purple silence: to adore mahogany, too penchant for inversion, while addicted
to sophistication: our gatekeepers, our saffron women, so colorful, so
diplomatic, or such republic democrats: our pretzel poses, those feline
feelings, while a man becomes a hero: racing through shrubberies, ten leopards,
twelve ghosts, and fifteen pandas: those puma eyes, those jasmine threads, at
something incredibly terrible: but Love is hedges, where Love adores Energy,
while Love is a feminine tiger: those Hildegard women, those Marylin icons, so
mixed, so imperfect, so spacial: our tailored minds, our wordsmith hearts, our
meaning slipping its reigns: trying so desperately, divesting our guineas,
where excitement is Casper sin: our thirst for scorpions, while forcing praise,
to submit, evaporate, and return….
I
heard fire; I dived in; I met something in those mirrors: seventy eyes, seventy
years, seventy women: ashamed to pant, ashamed to breathe, ashamed to love: a
young soul, a daft man, an idealist: so irrational, so determined, needing from
women what they can’t imagine: pulled asunder, laughing calmly, at hysteria
eyes: so marvelous, so demanded, while lovemaking is often robotic: but Love as
radiance, or Love as resonance, while Love dies blue leaves: burgundy vines,
augmented sessions, or patience too green to win: rattlesnake harmony, shaky
palms, while granny nicely passes out cookies: so thrown that way, so alive
that way, while prose misses an ingredient: a roadrunner, a gila monster, a
mechanical man needing to break freedoms: a centimeter apart, too torn to
smile, turning and walking, while spirit-backwards: those taller meanings,
those taller curtsies, so modest, so familiar, where a man loses his auras: mystikos
souls, or logos souls, such pathos energies: running into, Gorgeous,
this familiar fire, alert to something chaining insistence: our rudiment
worlds, our ruling principles, while Love adores in parts: our tender mimes,
our tender caves, so ruined by something beautiful.
…practically
nonchalant, concerned with motives, protecting our cherished inheritance:
cufflinks, Versace suits, soft leather Adam’s: a hundred dollar tie, a ninety
dollar white shirt, a pair of thirty dollar boxers: or a ten dollar t-shirt, a
pair of hundred dollar denims, and turquoise tennis: we can’t imagine, while
Love is struggle, while Love is discomfort-comforts: our ancestors so close,
our family tree so close, our novels and movies and cinemas—so close: needing
fantasy, omitted at times, while something Gorgeous can offset our
train: but Love is sanctioned, or Love is Protestant, or Love is Buddhist: so
re-imagined, where writing is unfair, while becoming something seen as a
threat: becoming rhinoceros, ramming blackholes, seeping into oblivion: so
purposed this way, remolded by strangers, while evaluating our reception: at
buffalo nonfiction, perceived as too intimate, or envied for such honesty:
replanted in visions, harnessed by frustration, while eager for a glass of
reality: something beautiful, something intimate, something fawning….
