We’ve
walked this path, we’ve died a little, while it felt terrific: those hawking
instincts, those ether antennas, those miraculous lenses: so sweet a snake, so
invisible an observer, so intimate two with features: such limbic activity, so
curious our ethos, while dying in you blended by immortality: so tugged,
if but to persist, while negativity has written our souls: those coarse
charges, so inclined to teach, while fretting this shifting space: our wiles
and woes, our welkin wretchedness, at weakness and whereabouts: as daughters
watch, as daughters patrol sentences, where a man feels wrecked, re-gutted, for
unsteady: this life of tensions, those tensions becoming friendly, if but an
encounter with humans: our burdock wishes, our prehistoric flowers, those
botanical eyes: so shorn in parts, elevated by miseries, so high those clouds:
such salutation, such rebuked cadence, to glance over where a kiss has escaped:
such livid enchantments, such broken instruments, as a woman slams a guitar: so
faint a feeling, so fair a flame, at familiar fires: those banshee thighs,
those panting calves, while a man plays for keeps: those sunlit gripes, this
interior bantering, so rustic, so young, while life keeps moving: (if but
those arms, reaching for indecision, wrestling with features: as accused for treacheries,
this life with pains, at something too keen for manipulation: those otiose
hostilities, this cultic bond, to remember those classes: such low affection,
such high regard, while stippled to believe in you: cut and thrown, reasoned
and forgotten, where I saw an amazing spirit: this mystic horizon, those bright
brown binoculars, so forced to break free from a ravishing anchor: as born to
pass-out, but staying awake, where men need full submission: if but to redeem,
if but to start a new life, chasing in order to arise as captives: for Love is
mythic, a furious rain, too inclined to die a stranger’s arms): this
stretchy agony, those fulgent, but silent screams: as bent this peril, to arise
in perils, where lovemaking seems inappropriate: so more this flame, as more
this gut, our oneness striking against planetariums.
I
felt dissolved, into something but clarity, as an inrush spoke your lightning:
our biblic beginnings, our academic frustration, while only a few endorse this
path: those electric creeks, this arising montage, or this collage ruse: so
legendary you are, so evolved you fly, while a mere soul watches, builds a
feeling, and unfastens his pillars: so wild and zenic, such a castled casket,
at wicked calmness: this playful self, this hidden triumph, while measuring
those features: so abandoned towards you, so needy in you, where delusion felt
at home in you: our mental woodblocks, this whittling sensation, to wax so
saintly but senseless: such a deep aura, so hard to decipher, for rarely does
one see their reflection: so games are plural, a man needs one valley, while
trespassing several pastures: our weeping dismissals, our future memoirs, while
disappointed in many we believe in: as reluctant creatures, living reluctant
lives, as often to feel distressed: those colorful margins, this emotional
clash, while trespassing granny’s wisdom.
It
started by mystery, it evolved into Haikus, it became an observant furnace: it
writes relentlessly, it taps into consciousness, where it concentrates, gnaws,
and clutches: fleecy feelings, unfair undergrounds, or fairer biases: at tear
with waves, at graves with fear, so dear to our maze: as but a young
aspiration, to need reality, to venture insanity: as bouncing extremes, looking
into reservoirs, a traipse vatic with signs: our purer dreams, our purer
founts, so purposed demanding determination: this roof by ambition, or those
first classes, as never thought this journey: at swollen pride, at concert
intensities, while buried by something inconsequential: indeed, a radical
misnomer, a tragic energy zone, obstructed by major limitations.
