I faint
a curse. This land of obedience. This narrative of daughters. / Swanic history.
But I speak to beauty. Alive in you. / Our genealogy. Our physicist’
connection. Aborted by rain. / To pledge a miracle. To enliven an aye-aye. Or sick
with Divinity. / Our souls watchful. Our minds computing. Our feelings
atwitter. / Looking at mother. Emotion to guts. Sensing re-vomited pain. / At
grandpa with alertness. As never a quick sound. And wavering about stepfather.
/ A swanic sanctuary. A voyage symbol: At a private insecurity. / Needing
image. Reciting imageries. And kneeling to images. / This squalid nightmare. This
social talisman. As a swan rethought a second. / An endless cave. Such petroglyph
misery. While joy beckons our mornings. / A scripture man. A mystic sailor. A resurrected
miracle. / As seated at television. To reread ideologies. While aware that life
is metaphysic. / Chameleon sanity. Outbursts city. While told a man is crazy. /
This wrenching wretched need. This furious absolute. Where times sing total
contradiction. / That quadroon brain. This shiftless static but flexible red
fire. / This bouncing torque. Or this woman in faces. Where thunder has been
silent. / As souls specialized. At internal whet-wheels. Or realized in closets.
/ Those watchful hangers. This ruminating wall. Or this piece of wood-ware. / To
purchase a box. To place a book. As to mail a letter. / Star-amazed. Or scar ablaze’d.
At bars aflame. / So gentle. Looking for that sentence. Where a loser utters: I
love thee.
I know
a feeling. I pace in turns. I feel a smile. / Such cultic language. Such cryptic
experience. Looking at a deep mirror. / Our reflection first. This first
glance. While diving into our beauty. / Cosmic adoration. Replaced in time. Where
mother finds something suitable. / If but a blind demeaner. If but a cautious
voice. If but a pure novice. / This life at finding. This world at destroying. Our
land so indebted. / A particular temperament. A specialized temper. Where I need
to be needed. / This wealth of situations. This island of insistence. Where
absolute loyalty is rare. / An esoteria. A deep convolution. While times are
terrible. / But Love is bright. While Love is miracle. Where Love is
centerpiece. / Our actions deliberate. So, become aware. In this spatial by dramatic
stages. / Those precious insights. This rich intuition. While learning to trust
interior operations. / At something proven grayness. This inherited reality. Where
a daughter desires purity. / Or a crafted sphinx. This reality person. A bit
with insincerity.
It films
in color. This veneer made visible. Where younger beliefs crash hardness. / But
glory to deception. And glory to absence. While we love color. / Our dreams in
grays. Our lives by threads. Our feeling for you the same. / Our insecurities. Our
partial truths. While one is only good enough for God. / Our divine madness. Our
poetic insanity. Or our hunt for something absolute. / Our difficult truths. This
inner feeling. Where our comforts are important. / Sold to existence. Born to
arrive slowly. While such relaxation. / To eat our tacos. To sip our pops. If but
this is reality. / To babysit. By a quick run. While studying for finals. /
This world for us—our needs—and never more. / As sliced apart. Believing in
unreality. While it’s good for us.
But more
to comedies. Our tragedies for sell. Our basins for us. / Our private lives. That
sick man. Our perfect blessings. / If but allowed. If but to read. Where we
concentrate upon others. / Ourselves last. As it should be. And remember
our places. / This deep scar. This flimsy reality. While it appeals to some. /
Our inner compass. As it cries for deliverance. Where we play a certain part. /
Such mixture cymbals. Such forbidden tambourines. While, indeed, we love you. /
This painting in vagueness. This love as intolerant. Where one wonders if it
retreats.
