…my
skin bled, there was fever, our woods spoke silence: this cave, Love, those
deep demons, Love, so occasioned to re-exist, Love: so adored as children, so
human as adults, living for tortured but having fun: our greater parents, our
greater eyes, to realize a message so far into our futures: to reclaim us, to
bane us, at chorus-guts and ruined in us: this raised storm, this woman’s
silence, this vehicle watching with no driver: so tamed with life, so unruly
with spite, while resentful they tamed us: our glorious swan, our naked rivers,
at mother so cold, so delivered, while hell was kissing roses: to approach a
topic, where years are decades, and forest days are unbelievable: wrinkled like
centipedes, eating poison grass, so ashy, such ash, reborn on Fridays: those
roads, Diamond, those messages seeming skewed, while saying love and received
as ivy: so close to tomorrow, this fretted hour, at something odiferous: so cut
with leaves, those veins screaming, while a snail was crushed….
I
wore a wig, I wrecked a yacht, I yanked yarn so wrung: those pearly purple
eyes, those wetland whiskers, while sipping salty-water: our hopes, Dear One,
our deeper sentences, our hats knitted for closure, Love: to imagine nights, at
foot-pressures, where music is fugitive: at thoughts in you, so arranged to
worship you, while seagulls dance and chance and lance existence: so cured in
you, to finally see remorse in you, where this writing-mission takes precedence
but you: our cattle chimes, our captured chaos, to exist at silent noises: such
a protagonist, so central to stories, while treading vocality-margins: blooming
in winter, a tulip to clouds, or running through snow: our stronger cries, our
deafer slates, where ice is crackling: our song with shivers, our goodness with
aches, so screamed a neighbor to violence: our angry swan, our kosher, eloquent
swan, at disaster and laughing with Jesus: so cursed a frame, so blessed a
brain, those sounds, those dens, at something so believable it became unreal
reality: a salient sequoia, a rare crow, while tears curled into
dust-balls.
It
spins in webs, a crawling, big eyed, splintered spider: to love by variance, to
adore but losing cadence, at guts while interior is feeling undisturbed:
hemline communication, helms forfeited, while steering-wheels are reclaimed:
that lacewing’s bosom, incredible, but belated feeling: to have nothing for
such, while a poodle brought cries, where Love has adored a certain death: at
marvelous aches, those nimbus scars, where jealousy has ruined our kingdom: so
removed in you, so gutted for floored in you, while something has been left to
common-goods in you: our running accounts, our void images, plus, our attention
to nothingness: at bleeding cyan, or suede breaths, while Love is
significant: awakened for operation, those invisible treasuries, influenced but
left alone: as close strangers, at so much hidden, while Love just avowed
allegiance.
…tracing
an inner shadow, taking logistic blows, afforded defeatist’ thoughts: so
enlarged with pride, at convenient truths, at mental maxims: but life is
emotion, where reason comes second, while alive to vet experience: such Condition,
such Predicament, where terminology has yet to reach your guts: our
discussion crushes, our mental-chakras, our molten intellectualisms: so
crucified at seconds, while searching for escapes, our eyes longing for
sparrows: so idealistic, so short those ideals, where mother is painted in
seriousness: such existentialism, or pavement ontology, or better, ghetto
cosmology: to address where it hurts, while pain clouds our skies, as but a
challenge to reach surface ponds: such nausea unto reasoning, or carved
wedgewood, while fleeing total embarrassment….
