I
arose in passion, or raised by passion, as mother a fire in windy snow;
agonizing patience, stepfather violence, so tucked into a nightmare; this
tragedy bliss, this fume and fury, such as announcing incredible dissonance; to
need this person, while mirrored in this person, as one living our vampires; to
have with pains, to adore with chains, as one ill-equipped to the terms of
existence; so precarious, so at lakes, while depending upon something seeming
it isn’t listening; our deep charms, our manifest troubles, while spurned
suddenly by silence; those red bulging eyes, this incredible weekend, while
praying our night simmers gently; begging for forgiveness, so cruel so young,
while majesty seems so conditioned; this feral flame, this cold collection, while
age seems so aggressive; those times at pleasures, those pagan appetites, after
too much has sought a pardon; (so alive in senses, at frontal lobes giggling,
while cuffed to something those tears; to need by freedom, to ingest and fly,
where reality is held hostage; our terrific tyrannies, our consoled confusion,
so enlove with advertised allergies; this film fury, this frantic party, at
broken reeds and demons; such blissful tragedy, such reaching imagination, but
it seems so unreal); this buzzing spiritual, this blizzard soul-quake, so quick
to seek substitution; our risqué habits, and afternoon avenues, so close to
something intangible; as yearning for torque, this race by torch, so enlove, so
tragic, while fed dissonant fires.
It
wasn’t cautious, nor was he gentle, but Love went back; this confusing plight,
this blight in essence, while needing to sense something different; this easy
pain, bouncing from lap to balcony, while I run a serious allergy; sneezing
violently, racing into vehemence, so vivid and vacant; our outstanding
possibilities, our realized faults, where humans are again so alive; this
tragic predicament, this palatial promise, while bibles are decoded every week;
to hate a man, for no other reason, than he asked for more evidence; our agnostic
audience, our long legged daughters, at deep holiness and havoc; to need
someone, to feel so vulnerable, while learning to open to love; this fair
person, as knowing her worth, to ask a person, Do you have clearance for
that? I reappear, seated too afar, attempting to catch a glimpse; those
round almonds, those fierce retinas, so acclaimed in something but sweet
brevity; our tender petals, our tender patience, and oh so tender; alert to
essence, looking at something viewed as there, while so selfish to intrude;
such options in winners, such deep contempt in absence, while aloof to
something too inviting; this reality in miseries, this rough mansion, so
evolved it felt good to soar!
At
complete absolution, setting sails, thrust, terrified and treasured; those
crystal luxuries, this print in sufferings, at blackdamp riches; accused but
living, those endless gray lines, so fevered and losing centuries; to have pure
fire, to know parts of divinity, at complete absolution; this life devoid of
agonies, this bland taste, with but felicity flavors; this mythical hell, this
quiet anguish, such thick and murky irony; to relive our song, to sing our
resurrection, embodied in mutual music; those needles in haystacks, this camel
needing water, or this whisper at measures sacrificed; to rethink monsters,
such poetic justice, where a person never has to reason; but hell is perfect,
and heaven is ritual, while we demand a certain majesty; our lobster tails, our
pure sunrise, such trespass and deliverance; our protected mothers, this savior
in childbirth, where a multitude of sins are erased; but days with you, are
better than days without you, so spiritual, such a pleasant wanderer, accursed
but blessed—as transgression creatures, if so be the precept, or creatures accepting
human frailty—those undercurrent rivets, this tender sea, as born by travesty.
