…sweet
soft and solemn…or rare riveting and relaxed…. Those archaic charms, subtle
into a saffron night, while pining and pinning for roses. / Those cavelike
swamps. This torturous debut. Where daisies speak to confess. / So delicate
with children. So dressed by intuition. While so rough with adults. / Our
marvelous miracle eyes. Our mineral sociality. Such carpet, such cliffs! / I’ve
reached anxiety. So obvious, so deliberate. Our song bleeding chemicals. / as men
trying harder, or women their last forgiveness, or men desperate to see angels;
this need in us, to know such station, as necessary for a proud countenance;
those steaks with butter, our roving trainings, as we wander into another
human; galvanized to soar, imagining our children, where Little Vanessa is
ecstatic for us. / as cheetahs run, or chipmunks harvest, while apes sit
beneath rain; so cold our arcs, so rich our favors, but never so indebted; this
angst to win, if but to measure accordingly, if but to repaint grayness; such
fairer dimensions, such ascetic religiosity, while communing with majestic
moon. / Our ponies and horses—our long excruciating hellos—so pushed at times.
/ To unglue is forbidden. To rehearse is essential. To check inwardness is
crucial. / While it rises slowly. We can feel its motion. As once realized a
bit angry. / But Love is gentle. Where Love is cravings. While Love shares her
concerns. / at pure communication, our children eating waffles, our home
carries our spirits. / —this mauve colored excitement, this house with kittens,
or this front lawn with memories—as some have passed, their captured memories,
so utterly dismayed; as despair is normal, to love and insist, where principles
dance in turquoise; our familiar friends, our wonderful realities, while
tragedy becomes perception; to fight or take flight, at archetypical
atmospheres, running into our contentions; as determined creatures, living and
leaning, upon this plethora of literature; so pure to me, so grand to me, while
realizing these deaths in me!
I
was attracted. So inconspicuous. Revving through sugarcane. / Our planet was
intoxicants, blueberry dreams, and raspberry happiness. / So close to reneging.
Always at that step. While it became too late.
…jasper
rain, elegant calves, relaxing in her bathing suit; it’s kleptic by sights, or
uncanny by deliberateness, plus, I’ll catch a cold; but smiles and arms, so
small and petite, or somewhere our minds conjure; flowers beading, gentility so
captured, wet and moistened concrete; a shadow in me, a dreaminess in me,
another reality in me…. / At peace to exist—despite, our jasmine
sorrows—watching this untrained pigeon. / We can’t interfere. But we interfere.
At something pulling us. / Such soil to earth. Such languid sensation. Pleased
to vigil those moments. / our souls “austere,” our minds “romantic,” our
spiritual revolution; at sad upheavals, or bliss wrapped in actualities, so
pure, so tired, where existence is interchangeable; such petit concerns, such
marvelous thrills, embarking and changing and resistant; our inclination, our
southern rites, as northern participants—at taupe sediments, segmented deeply,
our song so intermittent—so irregular, so opened to interpretation, while it
never appeared so obvious….
“Carping”
over treatment. Desiring something free-flowing. But settling into something
familiar: a bit hostile, a bit observant, while majority becomes by numbers. /
Essential and trained. Those years at mistakes. While I make things easy. / a
bit unsuspecting, a bit unassuming, while easiness angers or incites our lions;
those endless gestures, this person at cadence, or so watchful it’s hard to
breathe; as creatures—at space—or rummaging personality—so gifted, so
deliberate!
