…a
man rethinks his life, arguing with demon-thoughts, dog-tailed, piggybacked,
and destructive; at lights oblivious, to feel a surge, to look over into
familiar faces; such dynamite, hanging by windows, foot tapping slowly, to stab-out
left bound; this life of wilderness, this symbolic desert, or looking at Love
needing eternity; so crooked inside, battling hastily, while I do what I aim
not to do; this theologian, this vacuum, this transparent unidentifiable
machine; those relocated rooms, this ceiling so low, our animal instincts; to
grip his silence, to try harder, as flustered with contorted faces; wondering
about evil, ignoring All things! abandoned to foggy vision; this plank,
this unmistakable blockage, where a man must rethink; our daughters watching,
our fathers distressed, our mothers at battles; but interrogate Honesty,
ask for her name, feel as Space lodges a war; those deeper insanities, this
grandmother wisdom, while Love was once so hectic…. I walk pavements, adrift a
cadence, peering that nothing is solitary; this inner design, this lonesome corner,
this new name; something delicate, something vicious, if but to win
loyalties; this missile raging, as hit its target, forcing into oblivion; this
pacing floor, this dusty windowsill, this loud and noisy silence; to get a
signal, while another lingers, and I’m telling Jesus; but something is
gray, this deeper reality, so close to goodness war ensues; those cagey
feelings, this slanted reception, where reality is up for trial; this maniac
lawyer, this prosecutor, strutting to and fro; it looks at hedges, it
rebukes sincere goodness, while vying to destroy faith; this not no small
agenda, this Father with instruments, while a lawyer is set loose.
I dance
in stillness, a bit petrified, these years have rocket rains; such thunder to
skies, such warriors by essence, where a few are catching their beckoning; this
system so designed, this window filled with plants, a softer voice, a larger
textbook, and a glass of juice; such science, speaking gently, asking key
concerns, about as attuned as something unborn.
…this
city by dynasties, needing that circle, but a young one on hostile grounds; Love
approaches, shooting contacts, and gazes deeply; simple conversation, an
oblivious spirit, so captured in there; a big body this, a wafting scent, and
dangling jewelry; this slight reign, this captured horizon, a room filled by
cultic ownership; but days are different, rejecting the invitation,
realizing a spirit is close; to flip a table, or rebuke fruit, or to realize,
too, that Satan attends church; this weeping pond, this weeping swan, as pain
hydroplanes and giggles….
…there
were needs, and there were desires, we gave credence to our lusts; a few good
women, this need for instruction, but life, those streets, this bag; accustomed
to losing, a similar escalator, our rage, our hearts, this stenographer
embedding our responses; at something familiar, at something crazed, and here’s
a thought, should humans believe each other?
I feel
rather than speak, tapping softly, conditioned to ignore small
differences; I mustn’t be right, not at that moment, I’d rather walk us gently;
to lead by compassion, to ask for definitions, to require that one
analyzes this enchilada; this feudal world, this feudal self, our feuds with
strangers; as communion ensues, rolling our dice, at postulates for this
reality feeling; so fruitful, so delicate, at such a deeper requirement; our pendants
glimmering, our pandas looking, and such patience for innocence; or destroying
a piccolo, at the church’s pentacle, our interior childhood; this portico
prayer, this dust and dirt and dreary absolution; as compelled by feathers,
looking into meadows, so sudden his life!
