I
admire deduction, so casually inductive, our steaks and mushrooms and onions:
so captive in you, this open and endless, where reality spins according to
whimsical on you: as died in you, to relive in others, so cured, so mistakenly
uneven: days but thoughts, dreams so crooked, leviathan laughing: to love with
zeal, to lose enthusiasm, to share something so tragic: as needing exclusivity,
but dead to inclusivity, while forced to compromise: if but to live, with one
so gorgeous, as never told to spree: our locked eyes, this pounding beat, while
so familiar with our audience: so shy with us, so bold with them, while daring
to assert a little princess: our souls blackened, our jealousies raging, our
screams breaking vestibules: at cadence giggling, asking about concerns, too
remarkable to breathe: so epistemic, too existential, while living
practicality: this spaced liaison, this cured blessing, where I’ve become
everything: tenses shift, so dead in you, so alive a second our weekend: but
eyes wander, souls flush, this river with pagans: our midnight dance, our blood
blue rams, those horns becoming trumpets: (but Love is academic, and Love is
sensual, and Love is a mother: too famous for frantic, too gallant for
graphics, or too famish for fallacious: so fair, so afraid, if but to trust, as
withstanding proclivities: so strewn, wandering those panicked hearts, losing
strength: to conquer and discard, to passion with water, so much pain, so much
chlorine: upon a leaf, or a teal petal, while refusing direct inhibitions:
forever so sane, forever so lascivious, or forever so salacious: those
irritants, those rippling adjectives, to argue until daybreak: our ridiculous
angst, so deep, so concerned, happy that it came): our courage, our screams,
our beliefs, so modern with love, so curious to live, at apathetic sequences:
our cabbage with pork, our popcorn with movies, our dates with free agents: so
torn to live, so strong to speak, while never something so metaphysical: what
for that mystic, those alleys to never-green, as islands so dis-concerned with
antics: that poetic voice, those poetic charms, this poetic license: to adore
as imagination, to re-curse as seeking freedom, to need so desperately: those
deadly interiors, our upholstery mindsets, while you died to love fiction: this
fable blue horizon, this oak-tree delirium, if but Love dines with infatuation:
but yours, Love, so lukewarm, so abandoned to dreams: as living mistakes,
our family trees, while becoming mere merchants: so tasty in blood, so rare in
temperature, so cured in another’s violence.
I
met a scream, such deterioration, such skill born to endure: this miraculous
death, this weighty tentacle, to need, nay, die, to possess as one drowning: an
ich flickering, a mile gunning, an old country affair: this skin blood, this
evening gust, so floored to sense a vibrant desert: at rest screaming, awakened
and screaming, to touch something passion created: this brink blinking, this
brass wailing, this welt so wicked: at dearer tithes, so destroyed, while Love
announced a shadow: fairer gray sun, distressed so elastic, at such a paranoid
grip: our bodies colliding, our oceans laughing, our skies devastated: so close
to forfeiting, brought a full caption, reread in intimacies: so slow to
organics, so revved behind sincerity, so broken over agreed terms: opened to
silence, opened to myriad people, so courted, needing familiarity, to run like
Jesus forsook his Pain: waiting upon declaration, so dead but complete,
so at envy and deep disgusts: that moment, trying with desperation, but uneven
to escape itself: such reaching trust, such dreary responses, while dying feels
like living life: our disadvantages, our burning head-storms, or hours
discussing similarly disconnected: such golden legs, such fevered hydraulics,
looking at a wombic master-castle: to take existence, to give like screaming,
as everything seems to perish first: so deceased, so reborn, while never so
close to reneging: to imagine foreign jaws, a foreign constellation, and
foreign to our majesty.
