…a
glass of wine, a building sorrow, a miracle joy: something leans on science,
something needs religiosity, something cringes this noetic notion: at terrible feelings,
astonished by reflection, filled with ambivalence: so gentle, so delicate, so
at wars: such mirrored pain, those honest indentures, those testy apertures:
this mind battle, this deep sadness, while seeming unimportant: this menu, this
label, this chain: so attached to emotion, rereading curriculum, while
searching for those faces: cedar pianos, fragrant violins, while gentility
appears commercialized: but Love was agony, and Love was remorse, and Love was
outstanding: our views, our concerns, our therapeutic scissors: at once a
vandal, given silence to beckon, while Love ached to drift apart: such cadence,
such eye-hearts, such a mental cornerstone: those cobbles treaded, while eating
gravel, so arranged to die one more time: so dear to life, such panicky alerts,
so dreaded but up close: our darkened universe, our gothic women, while sex is
more of value: it seemed so sacred, it appeared uneasy, it demonstrated its
perspectives: but life is smooth, arts are crucial, where sex is leisure: our
days raffling, our birds performing, our muscles growing: our souls for debate,
our bodies displayed, our artists bare to New York: as gunning magnets, to
adore configuration, where having is akin to possessing: those beautiful
nightsong(s), those treacherous beauties, while imagination invests in
something unvetted: our curious minds, as curious souls, to have something
described as unnatural: our demarcations, our imposed understandings, while we
need something dying with us: a playful art, a cord in heaven, a socket in
hell: as aborted creatures, at something concrete, where actualities are so
abstract: our soul-songs, our admirations, our sequences: so aloof to feelings,
while raging in discomforts, where many are living full existence: our horse’s
mane, our kangaroo’s pouch, our rooftop apples: naked ivory, naked purples, so
naked, so sentimental, so dearly embarrassed: at rivers rinsing souls, at
Jordan rehearsing destiny, so surreal, so entwined, so deliberate: as
mechanical robots, flushed with humanity, so cold, so destined, so compelling:
to adore at first sentence, to realize mutuality, while perceived with
cynicism: a seeming spectress, a sunrise odor, or a calming aura: deaf petals,
deaf eyes, and deaf sentimentalities: our bleeding palms, our corset brains,
while adoring pain is compelling….
I
advise more existence, something made in portals, something alive in other
humans: those living articles, those beautiful vignettes, those amazing,
stimulating souls: our footprints, our wilting miseries, our flying super-people:
so at pasture, nibbling apricots, while fiddling through grains: drumstick
gavels, immortal gravel, something so heavy it sings: our radiant minds, our
glowing bodies, our stern and vigil politeness: our daunting tasks, this
creativity, this pale black sunrise: those eclipsed cities, this mirror in
pavement, or those plastic windows: our shopping hearts, our remorseful pasts,
to rue and love while adored for comforts: those few good souls, those people
endorsing our lives, where a simple discussion carries light-particles: our
psychs with life, our psychs as immortal, our psychs as existential: those
random souls, those skeptic tiles, those mosaic entries: as purer entrées,
established in mystical ports, as whales dive and laugh and surround our
Catalina Island: tackled by rain, leering into promise, so studied, so vigil,
but not quite there: such frustration, such awakenings, while humble as a
church house mouse: indeed, our ghettoes flushed, our suburbs mingling, our
souls drawn to something lethal: at amazing characters, at amazing literature,
while each artist feels inundated: heretofore, our silent melancholy, our
joyful hearts, our children forming identities: wading steeper waters, while
eyes drizzle, where, in reality, I long for a sweeter existence.
