…look
at us: have you seen us: such deceased pretenders:
…this
vase bleeding, this paint bleeding, this engine through grapes: so devastated,
so crooked, at dynamite for liquor: our guts screaming, our prides but melanin—I’m
such a prostitute: this wine haven, this pistol caving, to chunk a losing whistle:
to need more, from embodied sin, and a subtle grin: double-dared, a life
sentence, our ignorant liquor: masked and re-masked, unmasked and rebuked, a
bit too close to a dope-dealer: this dead theology, can’t nobody listen, so
Porsche at bowels looking at Jesus: this field that, this house whatness, while
candles churn at treasuries: so completely raw, so completely cursed, plus, a
piece of this enlove warrior: too many fantasies, a dynamic superhero, or
something too grandiose: at Love with patience, at brains our giggles, while
Love flashed a feature:
I knew
for dead cries, I knew for more liquor, so bathed, so creative, or too st8
forward: as skating to it, as a ring for it, while misbehaved and a slave with
it: our grander feelings, to adore but sightless, as picture graphing its
habits: this daughter gunning, this daughter at ruins, this playful forgetful
diamond future: weaving invisibility, asking a psych, if but one day those
closed horizons: so shook with rain, so pitted in this dungeon, while a phone
rang, a soul answered, and Yahweh screamed: forty-three years, even nineteen
minutes, plus, this skin infection: recoiled and bottled, flippant and amazing,
at compassion laughing over disagreements: our aches with tension, our bubbling
resentments, while a mad creature would attempt a massacre: so floaty, just
this firebird, at ashes feathers and Love’s descension—so willing, if but that
harvest, to adore love and never touch forgiveness: our bones damaged, our
brains beat alive, our forcefields distressed—as Love would cringe, this a.m.
dilemma, while sleeping as if so peaceful: this maniac machine, this whispering
tweet bird, while a man is barely composed to speak….
…purer
darkness, murky swamps, this talkative aye-aye—at bright treasuries, at broken
lies, so thrust, so enlove, crying deadly this loving womb: our gates so high,
our deserts so beautiful, trekking twenty times two, those years and babies—this
film and edits, this baptized keyboard, those confident destroyers: look at us,
have you seen us, such deceased believers: this Jesus Soul, this mad
mathematics, this Pythagoras maniac: so sliced in there, so received out there,
at the Thousand Oaks Arcade: this ignited memory, this friendly fire, to
misprint a thought so deeply: this psych wisdom, this irritant psych phantom,
while God knew her first pain: this gut-fool, this delivery soon, where more
than half is over: our dread in death, our want for deaths, as embodied
glorious warriors: those courts silenced, this Alexander feeling, or this Athens’
College: such radiant melanin, such megalomaniacs, this despot, this creature,
where obedient silence becomes Joseph: so cooked in gumbo, such spicy rice, to
look at us, as seeing us, as teaching her this…!
…so
foul I was, but hell was rivers, this masked man under sediments: those old
feelings, this sword to Ghost, while split asunder drifting into guts: broken
in tens, swooshing like madness, to catch a psych and claim a demand: so angry
with Jesus, so enlove with Jesus, while crazed an asexual worship: at grandpa
now, this curse we live, so enlove with color: this losing windfall, this
windmill spinning, this schizophrenic identity—this bed of whistles, this scent
to Doves, while a pigeon carried our disdain: this escape-goat, or this scape-goat,
or too damn drastic to give a damn: those encyclopedias, this intellectual
Colossians, while Romans became so intimate to me: as a dead marshy, or a
hectic saint, this flipped out gore in us…!
