I look
estranged, staring into damages, or revoked asking forgiveness; such questions,
such miracles, a few dozen wings; as passed a pair, atop a desk, our knees
bleeding into rugs; so waxy or furnaced, abed a ceiling, winking at
grasshoppers; our loving miseries, our big bodied crystals, at daisies
celebrated in the aftermath; ashes scream namelessly, Bentley blunts kneeling,
as accursed too soon while winning; this dead crush, this losing feeling, where
Love spoke Palestinian; our Eden drama, this semi-comedy, such dissonant
participants; but days are new, giving as receiving, where reality advocates
equality; our droplet ears, our noses whispering, our agonies asking more
determination; but hell is a coffin, a blurry essence, chasing for privileges;
mauve caskets, cherry balm herbs and orchids; a swan dedicated, a swan
invisible, while intuition sung with grackles; lilac kisses, a bold adorable—my
life!—as distressed and living, or in such company, while honestly awareness
feels crossed.
I’m
missing something. But Love is dahlias. And Jamaican rum is devastating.
Our portico
crumbled, ever so fragile, afloat our flaming azure. An eyeful passion, a
crazed calmness, so astute, so rooted, and suited in birth-works; our minds
upon tables, our pedigrees up for discussion, where we vet authenticity; took a look lowly, to fret with fire, over sweet pecans, wild grapes, and granny’s
gumbo; as forever this love, this mink in turquoise, this kneeling elephant—our
pink dictionaries, our sherbet trees, our rumberry nightmares; appealing
divinity, laughing life heal me, at date plums with panic; our crisp relation,
our solemn observation, where a lawyer might be underprepared; an African dispensary,
a Caucasian pineberry, our hopes and screams and portfolios splashed into
public auditoriums; so much to live, so cheated to die, while something heinous
becomes so appealing; at pipe organs, at church-life—a sacred distrust!
How are
you, Love—looking at this second, re-aware that life is motion; harp eyes,
fluting tongues, or a saxophone voice; such bass and soprano, such historical
significance, while we search our family roots; a young merchant, as documented
in medieval times, traveling from space to roads; associated with priests,
mourning with bishops, or deserts and deep battles with psychical energies; (I
read something spicy, this trenchant thought, where the mind will unlock and
something uncanny will happen); the mind becomes an entity, while acting
against itself, where something supernatural seems to occur; one trained can
bring it out, even a group of scientists, but we see this as something
extraordinary; (can you imagine, your brain speaking in your face, while one
is a diehard mystic); you see my dilemma, speaking like old friends, and
always I’ll love your essence.
…a
banjo and trombone, hazel green, or sable brown eyes; a stepfather’s pride and
sanctum, a silent harmonica, or a roaring trumpet; we see something occurring,
this human element, where mothers and fathers hug and die and live again; such dragon
berries, such melodic, loving, so considerate, those voices; our margin
headaches, our missed messages, our objective truths; with no business there,
this corner over there, while so at home right here; such losing order, such
reckless songs, to result, rise and risk; at deep decisions, at a miracle
breakthrough, while one confesses he was dependent upon disvalues; our
signature projects, this bat in our trunks, so close to asking more time; but Love
is sensitive, and Love is explosive, and Love needs a believing friend; no
comparison, such ruthless laughter, to see it become air-symbols….
