Pencil, plus, Eraser II

So belied at fire. Such swoosh by fire. So blessed. So cursed by fire. / This enigma-fire. This room of ink-fire. This nonchalant eraser-fire. / As trained. This ghetto gnome. Those ghetto charades. / Abreast to suburbs. Rummaging Brentwood. This woman. This needle. This beautiful catastrophe. / Those lonely fabrics. This lawn made pain. Or this treacherous, aloof, magnet pencil. / Talking tongues. Splattered in sections. So independently tyrannical. / Those screens laughing. This eraser laughing. Our memories giggling. / So touched in rain. So vain in diaries. Whereas, ink is detrimental. / Those slums. This sludge. Running like scarecrow. / Our sewers breeding. Our souls tillage’d. This dirt-field for soccer. / Adult prescriptions. Chinese fast-food. And Record Shops.

A loquat pomegranate. A tower watching. Our elementary suicides. / This film in passion. This woman a disaster. Or more a pushy miracle.

Cabernet smiles. Insidious statements. So focused we felt fire. / This intimate fugitive. This exiled pencil. This Cyrus eraser. / Our clams with tuna. Our torture with apologies. Our fathers at poolhalls. / Those funny cartoons. This Betsy Boo sketch. Or this fifty-year-old memoir. / Our pains obsolete; for majesty rewards, while terror plagues this closet. / This sparky pencil. This caged pencil. Sitting and requiring destiny. / Sawed asunder. This mauled eraser. Begging for trash bins. / So distinctive. So metaphorical. While we discard humans.

I chew profanity. I foul a nightmare. So cursed and reciting erasers. / As combed and free. Or rummaging trash. While Love became indescribable. / This paper dispenser. This bag of pencils. Our electric responses. / Running by Oaks. Too close to reality. Looking at pure hubris. / So filled with neediness. So allergic to pausing. While required to kiss edginess. / This robotic rubber-band. Those guitar pencils. Our feud—our reigns—our California fires. / At penchant mirrors. Gawking at pensive pencils. So inclined to chunk enthusiasm. / As miracle babies. As ghetto winners. Across cultures and losing. / To have this flame. Embedded in spirit-shadow. So re-stitched. So crucifiable. So calm to die in freedom.

Ghetto antennas. Wires crawling. This eraser so jubilant. / Pure indecisiveness. Or a catch of divine madness. At cliffs giggling wit Elijah. / Our Elisha souls. This interior protégée. Or something peeking inside. / This strange land. This angry digest. Or want for something he owns. / Our ghetto fast-life. Our terrible Valleys. Somewhere in Orange and nervous. / Those women libraries. This angelic curse. At Mechtilde mourning those efforts. / So in-cursed. So in-bred. At treasures in something apophatic. / Our artists removed. Our Hosier hiding. Our musicians gauging fires. / If but to explode. If but to re-deaths. While mother just escaped.

This vague listening pencil. This diamond eraser. Our lives penciled entries. / Too astute in us. Too familiar with sensations. Or angry at you. / This incredible year. This feeling abused. To wonder about animals. / Our hearts at memories. Our thoughts at conjecture. Where something becomes a blizzard. / To invoke a feeling. To die a catch. Where anxiety is erased. / To bleed in us. To re-demand this freedom. Or too lost in something unrealizable. / Our pencils gawking. Our erasers gnawing. While essence is pure LED.