…so
mechanical, as for survival, our minds mimicking robots: but a swan is pure,
and purely indebted, and actualized in innocence: such omission, this venial
thing, while protecting our interests: so categorical, so a priori, or
stuck for debating rightness: this deductive corpse, or this inductive family,
where embryos become intimate creatures: this flame we lost, this rain we
cross, at pain and eye-gook gloss: if but your mind, free of contemplation, to
have a satori revelation: but Love is thinking, and Love is gathering,
while Love is planting: as a furious intellect, reviewing veterinarians, or
tugging a cute kitten: so evolved in you, such cadence in you, to become
greater than us: to devoid those habits, to erase something outdated, to flurry
in purple wings: at orison and thought, at tongues and sentences, while amazed
at starlight: our pagan passions, promised by counsel, such curious creative
machines: to hide so deeply, to feel such remorse, while held as an innocent
bystander: broken colors, feudal interiors, where hair is so important: a young
Belle, a tailored encyclopedia, so witty, but so outwitted: in silence
chancing, in violence prancing, while crying a solemn pillow: those red
rainbows, this hectic horizon, if but this languishing garden: image born,
sworn to secrecy, while something has given God its ghost: in deeper fabrics,
as hybrid children, forced to participate: our minor battles, their fairer
distresses, if but we live as inadequate: this crucial war, while needing identity,
if but to survive….
I voice
regrets, a crucial development, but where would I be: otic or visual, dead or
viable, such appointments to acquiesce: our pools with green stuff, our minds
with little sequences, our visceral bodies realer than our conceptions: a
thought as generation, a soul as inflammation, so gated, so plural, so
unrealized: this silent anger, this attitudinal disposition, while one enquires
into your mindstuff: this plaint of sorrow, this pelt upon character, and
needless to say, we’re feeling perfection: those Cajun eyes, this southern
accent, those accentuated cheekbones: as creative winds, a gust to Jesus, while
a swan is hard to decide: this hands-off ‘thing’, this gloomy sentient ‘thing’,
or quite captured by this entire buffet: as sung enlightenment, as danced
before Genesis, while Zoroastrianism seems so prevalent.
Our perceptions,
Love, our piggybacked presumptions, Love, or outrageous self-imageries: but the
swan is crucial, an analytical machine, so indebted, so irremovable, afloat an
ocean island: such by pentacles, stepping into paradise, or musing upon
disharmony: those questions arising, this wonder about parenthood arising, this
semi-casual concern arising: sensing differences, so a bit more keen, while
self-consciousness becomes quasi-perfection: our wandering souls, our guilt ridden
mentors, while deciding to adhere: as pruned intellects, so evolved into
caricatures, while needing a perspective akin to daylight.
…those
most holy grounds, while catching visions, dreaming of giving a sibling a
talisman: our baffled back-eyes, arear a boat, so banished, so free, killing an
innocent albatross: if but recognition, these hermit eyes, where two elevate
and become humility: but so much pain, such indignities, while ignoble
behaviors ensue: our coached replies, our touched seconds, staring into cosmic
cinemas: so young but adultlike, so pushed but pushing back, where life seems
inscrutable: our basin palms, our washed feet, while something weak became a
bulwark: at diamond sinews, passed a white stone, where a new name appeared: our
crimson tunic, these seven candles, or those seven churches…!
