…such
softer angst, regenerative cries, those energies; so invited in you, so
demanding of you, while predicament became laughter in you; we pant like deer,
our eyes like lemurs, our death so sweet; meeting vaguely, pushing, nay,
tugging Christ—such unfathomed literature, such Native latches, such systematic
denial; as never such syrup, while never thicker molasses, so cursed, so free,
so inhibited….
I escape
ditches. I come to you. I scream without vocality. / A swift current. A recharging
socket. But pain is dear to me. / Those passing vices. This tinging phone. At orchestra’s
remorse. / Our relived sin. Our intimate trespass. Rethought. Re-entangled. An
intangible voiceprint. / Taking refuge. Debating refugees. So close to odd
behavior.
I
saw feelings. They became ghosts. I denied rationality.
Such
radiant beginnings. Our days knitting nerves. Such ash and regret. / tacks and
thimbles, imprinted carpet, pensive ink-souls; so strange such poetry, this
private galaxy, while needing certain clearance; our hues debating, our
effervescence disputing, our agonies so private; even divulged, screaming defeat,
and one glances by; our bodies so hot, our streets perfected, while perfect
sorrow is so sweet; kadupul dimensions, living quarters—that feeling, our neat
buns.
Immortal
fetters. Our havoc graves. Our bones speaking constraint. / At sensitive Jesus—hoping
for sensitive advice—a protégée of nonexistence. / Arête shames. Devilish cores.
So warred in this gut. / running to you, but never seeing you, while love
invests in you; our common beliefs, our stung-felt replies, if but to tarry in
that space; or angry with me, for something independent, where brilliant minds
fail to fathom; I deny reaching, but I see a thought, while it was nice a turn
so gray. / Our wellic eyes. Our welted eyes. So rich in personal vacuums. / Iridescent
sky-pavement. Resistant but easy. While aborted for turn around. / A metaphysical
thought. Born to tragic circumstance. Enmeshed in becoming truths. / this municipal
island, those tiger elocutions, at a fatidic diary; invoiced in terrors, alive
but drastic, alert where camouflage is preferred.
Resewn
chastity. Or born devastated. A bit deeper, and, thus, a bit different. / Those
foibles. Those hard-gathered twigs. Participating in something unconditional. /
Temperate repudiation. Our wildness. Our echelon gregariousness. / Our paid
luxuries. Our interior heist. While it hurts, I fathom. / this theist thing,
our erumpent cadence, or so disgusted it’s hard to battle. / those cries in us,
those waves to shore, while a pigeon followed us home. / Give us evidence. Our
minds conjuring darkness. Where is becomes easy.
I
thought wrongly. This sinning theologian. This creative happenstance. / At
ambrosia emotion. Filled by sister bliss. Knitting our dusky ants. / So
arranged that way. So slanted this way. While seeing something quite personal.
/ This lamp as it veils. Or darkness as it speaks. Where we go too far. / Such
brilliant minds, aching to avail, while we alienate existence. / Irenic
pleasures. Or hellish debates. Where nothing is quite enough. / Such extremes. Pushed
so early. Where reality isn’t camaraderie. / Our quick knives. Our burdened
eyes. Our demand for clearances. / Those demarcations. Our ten-point systems.
Our vetting and denying. / Our easy ears. Our delicate harps. As searching for
our alumni.
