…seams
are screaming, retouched in savagery, composed with chasing hells: our
incredible arts, our remarkable sky-terrors, our egregious goodness: filmed in sentience,
restarted as abandoned, so many freshets—so little time: fueled with indifference,
condemned to passion, at miles flickering into firebrand: re-stitched, praying
upon strengths, so close to a masterpiece: this big show, while many will
attend, our greater parents at our tribunals: this fear in deaths, so restored,
so ignored, or too close to losing: our crossing paths, our innuendos, or dead,
insufferable silence: those increasing eyes, such increasing memories, at
meadows and shadows and glamour: our burgundy wedding dresses, our pearl white
tuxedos, our pouting cigarette matches: this vat, Psych, this green belief,
Psych, our years so disparate, Psych: leaning into ages, at antique ghosts, so
flamed with chaos: (or adored for compassion, eating miseries, so attuned to
some woman’s idiosyncrasies: at bed-talk, at pillow-comfort, existing in voided
spaces): our souls at chatter, our minds listening, so flung, so fair, so
deliberate: those hideous rehearsals, our lantern with oil, or such raw
importunity: a friend to attraction, as it passes our grip, while fawning at
daylight dreams: those tall buildings, those casual elevator rides, or museum
portraits speaking violence: at ancient thoughts, such rich immortality,
rereading implied essence: such a petite insensitivity, such a voluptuous
appetite, so vulnerable, so warned, where men chase danger: while convinced
with silence, this rapture in terror, so compelled to adore something
impassive: our rules for endeavors, our gambling habits, so existential, so
remote, so enlove….
…a
mystic box, a mystic friend, while lines have blurred: those daydreaming
nights, feeling detached, while Love hit its buzzard: so close those smiles, so
suffused with magic, at tears or joys, a bit rushed for perfection: requested
for mortality, yearning for endlessness, at flowers or forests or conclusions: never
to have died, as when losing in degrees, such irrational, pathologic love: our
bodies resourceful, our minds at treasures, a bit concerned about our thoughts:
looking at behavior, seduced by kindness, while behavior is romantic but
dissociative: those gray lines, our vague histories, where others are
discussing heirlooms, or antiques, or inheritance: something normal, according
to consensus, while arrogance and pride keeps one attached to sorrows: our
re-polished ceilings, our drilled trapdoors, our long, discomfiting hallways:
those ghostly charms, this intimate doll, where reality has grown intolerable:
those talkative Jackson Pollock’s, our twin-faced Picasso’s, or cathedrals
speaking insatiable holiness: so carved for criticism, so reborn for a second
chance, while existence appears redundant….
…refocus,
Love, adore and chase, feel something in its regions, Love: soar at arts,
reread prose, dance so fair a delicate creature: our soaking or sulking hearts;
or candent horizons; or this subtle, silent and salient flare: so separated
from activities, so framed by rejected pictures, or so close it hurts where
something is absent: at fragile passions, asking for incredibility, while
reasoning void of actualities: our harnessed suspenders, our likewise emotions,
while something new appeals to hermetic interior: too much fire, or too damn
smart, where others feel divided: such fleece to mental phones, such
microscopic detachment, while entangled and longing for measurements: those
commandeering emotions, as never a greater sunset, while feeding from palm to
mouth: a bit disassembled, a bit reassembled, at evening brunch: seas adjusted,
earth resituated, our conceptions become fires: where loving is difficult, it
claims responsibility, while early years seem so approachable: those showcases,
those cramped closets, or those new home scents: such grown existence, dealing
with grown reasoning, so effused by grown ideals….
