I
flicker about graves, chancing with robins, spaced upon a twig: so drilled
inside, so deceased inside, so alive inside: so different, seeing unclearly, a
bit insecure: a map screaming, a notion bleeding, or a calm, alarming aura: at
old feelings, at sophisticated women, looking, a thought sighted, a grim-reaper:
to succumb for tired, to become weak, so stranded at Moral Allies: those
outlandish promises, those deeper meanings, so in seconds, while Love is
agonizing: to envelope us, afloat a nightsong, so wicked those immortal
asylums: as cursed to love, needing reciprocation, if but to look over and call
you, Friend: this reasonable request, this relatable fire, peering at,
excavating us, such a crocodile with flame: flippant and wild, or destined for
fury, our mothers and fathers carrying detrimental outcomes: to reason tightly,
to dig a trench, to feel, embrace and bathe in a basin: so different, so
sensitive, too alert by smart souls: this island of blackbirds, this raving
phoenix, so creative, so gutted, as floored a man with seven faces: so at you, while
trusted to fantasies, while desperate to avoid us: this killing sensation, this
blue shiver, at red robin heights: wondering about feelings, entertaining
emotions, while at someone too far to cry: our fathers loco, our mothers
abandoned, or a rare soul determined to outdo his father: searching, Love,
affected in core, while needing somewhere to relax: a nonexistent, a ravishing
charm, so alert, so deadly, with tiles in brains and trekking gaps: so fevered,
this internal apparatus, or those curious souls: so pregnant with life, so rare
an experience, while sending unneeded waves: or Mother This, or Mother That, so
graveled into brick walls: so absolutely innocent, wrestling interior motion,
so perfect, so destroyed, while radiating christic beauty. …absolutely indebted, this raving machine,
this dynamic energy, or those roses walking our gardens: absolute fever, so
assumed as motion, such a mystic teal sky: where Love is deliberate, and Love
is accidental, while both seem so large in this small world: our similar
circles, our similar arts, our paradoxes robbing, nay, augmenting our
insanities: this kettle its lies, this pot its coldness, or this talkative,
lunatic coffee: our deductive mistakes, our wants for something, where delusion
operates as commonsense: this feel-good exaggeration, where we know but never,
while assaulted by this irrational feeling: so different I live, so close to a
breastplate, with armor and sword and helmet: so abased that second, as never
so low, while reality was beating our tails: such a wonderful creature, so
idiosyncratic, where movement means indecision…. I move fastly—a man a scar, looking at
something terrific: if but this second, those concrete feelings, if but
cemented into skies: our reasons so plain, our needs to escape, our cravings
for something made gorgeous: our sons laughing, our daughters grimacing, as
wives shake and giggle and head for another feeling: our broken sights, our
interior deeds, our degrees—floating, interrogated, or damn near annihilated:
while pigeons soar, and ducks leap ponds, or a casual elder feeds squirrels:
this different elation, this somber moment, this silly second—as escaping self,
removed from life, at dust and darkness and damn near feeling good: our
masterful ambitions, our therapists searching psychology, our screams at this
unlikely situation: refused entrance, this silent academy, where most are
expressing something similar: as fire with flame, or oceans with sediments, or
skies with atmosphere. I get weak and
land—this irrational need, so strong and anti-social: looking at myriads, attracted
but dismayed, but afar from misanthropy: or maybe distrusting, appearing in a
shadow, those dark, lone, critical assessments: at a deeper feeling, excited
about encounters, but uneasy with performances: or rather, this natural
exchange, this natural sentiment, while so natural we ignite a spark: a radical
believer, an orison member, while fever and fire flails existence: such flogged
experiences, so worn but passionate, so cursed but feeling goodness.
