I
garden a nightmare—so indebted to happiness, while sick to guts about bliss:
this chase for luxuries, this vim for perfect, while wretched our notches and
flaming ghosts: our purple passion, our coconut rum, our crushes upon something
too destined to run: this pregnant fire, this leaping soul, while a baby smiled
my voice: as sunk in woods, camping with chipmunks, and listening to ants: our
waving oceans, beneath our caving auras, while denoted in plural rawness: so
afraid to live, so comfortable with dying, while a bit off-put by reality: if
but to adore, as blind to existence, while most minds are tugged: this gunning
feeling, so lost in this, so curt to feel this: too different for normal, too
accursed by parents, while God knew: this deep indictment, this furious
tribunal, raging and laughing and falling apart: those whispers chasing, this
wall laughing, those schizophrenic skies: this bipolar frenzy, as lost to win,
while never again this life: our tortured intestines, our guts bleeding, this
napkin to tongue: if but our cadence, if but this extent, wondering this lot
about emotions: this peak feeling, this peeking butterfly, or this morning’s
hummingbird: those damn raccoons, this skunk odor, or those loud ass crickets:
to concentrate upon Wisdom, to become too vicious, as aborted for such
rectitude feelings: this old neural transmission, this new familiarity, or this
odd distance while too close to win: a deeper language, a pint of sin, this
miracle laughing in my face: this damn color game, this brutal dissociative
art, or those regular do for good mentalities: those people there, our people
here, and everyone is claiming human: if but to love, just one dying soul, to
flourish as alive and liquid: too damn small, this big ass God, those
headlights flickering: this dark ass highway, this loud ass sensorium, as
destroyed, left for dead, and Jesus came!
I
sip and get lost; I get lost and come back—angry as hell with this ink: those
fastened walls, this bloated camel, this gnat at my reflection: a mere
passenger, as to exit a vehicle, to lose a bit of respect: this cuff thing,
this apology thing, or this plea for empathy: a manic religiosity, a fool for
mysticism, while aflame an empire and grinding: a cadre of souls, this hidden
profession, to enflame or inflame a nation:
a
torn Protestant, a Baptist child, an adult charisma: so cataphatic, so apophatic,
or so rabid in this calm ass body: radiating vibrations, a thump from afar,
a member of this sick ass existence: removed from society, a hermit whistling,
as told a squirrel to watch its mouth: a bit dramatic, but, nonetheless, It’s
not imperative to adhere to those complaints: indeed, revved and dying, or
alive and suspect, where some are destined to live this religiosity: a man
watching, a man thinking, while missing this key ingredient: our deep
convergence, our experientials, attached to something too esoteric to utter: “A
fine claim, for a chosen soul, while feeling important”: indeed, a box, but we
claim thus, Any one person may feel this ecstatic—as abandoned to
Ghosts, or running into dungeons, if but dear God to unlock!
