…three
hours of healing, pseudonyms for pain, such lavished eyes; opus miseries, candescent
sorrows, and rain-filled metaphors; pictured sin-waves, free flowing brooks,
and deer creeks; such rumored literature, those high doors, such immovable
monks…. I misspelled justice—this elaborate fugue, such rapture in one woman;
to beg silently, to pray for majesty, while some are outside his Kingdom;
a man’s blueprints, a man’s architecture, or a man’s mistaken life; florid problems,
these cultic evaluations, while pleading sky-pressure; falling fast fevers, a
broken cord, wondering about our last ecstasy; but let a man be honest, it’s
never the sex, it’s more you shared our intimacy; however a man convinces self,
however a man chooses to die, but let quiet lies lay dormant; a mental aria, a
longer night, to touch, attempt to heal, while something is adolescent; this
fussy language, our curt replies, but a man is willing to share something
foreign; it eludes me, such fantast obedience, while realized as something I did;
those years to crookedness, this karma I built, while change means more
to us than others; our shoulder patting, our gut-rockets, our unmovable Id; to
cuss softly, to pass our opinions, while many haven’t asked; indeed, a bit
gray, a bit that island, but we often feel obliged…. I was younger, with myriad
hungers, I’ve now narrowed them down; but life was this infection, or this
field of chess-pieces, or something distorted by something losing; our shared
melancholia, our reasons for adjusting, our antisocial traits; but Love was
willing, our bodies spoke familiarity, our hearts titillated: autumn was in
chorus, we built quires, we sung so simplistically; (I noticed something,
this homelife is needed, but most men need something more e.g., a promiscuous
diehard queen, a generative career, or a few diehard friends): I speak about
men, but women need this life, more so, a desire to write loudly; as creatures
forming habits, albeit, naturally or unintentionally, we live by these
implants; one says something like, When I find a good woman, but one has
been in darkness over twenty years; weeping where Jesus wept, waxing, too, with
Descartes, or seriously rereading King; (I heard a man judging, he was pointing
at adultery, I asked, Does this rob a person of his legacy?); it paints a
picture, but life was rough, and as we are aware, we gravitate towards those
things we dislike. …a stranger stargazes; a mother cooks pasta; a song is
wafting softly…this essence is life, these miracles we overlook, while a man
just left the parlor; a little boutique, carrying his coat, while adjusting his
collar; our radical habits, our needed lives, where most are at their best;
such a sad missive, such a reminder, such wilderness and bliss; a flagon for
night-scares, a scar for our dreams, so sacred, so loving, so silent…our
masquerades, our maestros, our families; to look this way, by such obligation,
where unless, and namely, our ruling palms; such sweet aromas, such fragranced
bodies, such meaningful eyes; as needing solace, so close it aches, while so
caring and intimate; this other person, this other self, Where I need this
life; scraping a floor tile, scrubbing under scrutiny, where a child asks,
Are you alright, Mommy? "…it takes decades our Love, as steering our deepest
needs i.e., becoming something adored and infused; this hard request, our dying
shivers, while incorporating a host of activities; swopping televisions,
reknitting contracts, letting something sprout; our demarcations, our subtle
screams, our submersion in this dice pain; to realize powers, to aid a
community, to re-channel built up energies; to teach classes, to teach Sunday
school, or to put those emotions to flame; to raise a child, to settle in this
environment, to need family pride; so structured our Love, reeling in true
indignation, but so soothing an enchantress; those vines so verdant, this grass
so fluid, our hearts so involved; to commune like apostles, to visit with
souls, so painted to redeem existence; our loving requests, our realism a bit
portraited, our participation in creating our magic…".
