unpin
us from tragic guilt those heavy officers those ropes with heinous respect or
those cuffs haggling with brains; our deeper bowels our unearthed roots where,
and, albeit, this triumph, pain has re-scavenged our intestines; those crows
laughing this hawk swooping or this eagle chasing this hare; our damaged
affairs this truism with blood our barometer bleeding bile; so autonomous but
so captured while uncured and anonymous while angst banishes comforts; this man
with so much to gain and so much to lose while debating God’s curriculum; those
grandfather eyes or grandmother’s wits insofar as unleashed and so calm while a
maniac monster probes science; so small in mother so activated and kicking
while alert to voices—this minute to reminisce those seconds to feel punished
while pain gave birth to something effective; our prolific scars our proficient
reasonings so intangible so worked-over debating as if we had neither love nor
control; listening for our exits or reprinting our hesitations if but to give
balance to something initially wicked; this miserable happiness or this
wonderful sorrow where realized love agonizes more.
I
knew for gray skies this impending storm and it was advertised in every human
channel; they called me tainted they knew my destiny and now they laugh with glasses
toppling over.
Such
rich humiliation where another claimed that station as we suppose our irony is
his expenses; so crude in analyses or so rude to this mirror where a man
debates his eye-whispers:
those lying friends those
it could not be real and giggling while edging into rage; this polemic with
psychologists this deep problem while little Jenny is slamming jars of jam at
the market; indeed, this payoff this wretched realism while mother would have
snatched and yanked and went half baked; our designed behaviors our needs for
attention or something so exclusive it feels good to please their faces; this
man with dynasties this kinship with Marchand’s in this agony designated
forest; those coppice trees, this aye-aye insanity, while little Jimmy just
paroled last night.
this tile or this towel
they each know this body—this steam or this stream they coagulate as deprived
of my sweat at glaciers with my dreams or refined but this furnace is pure
jelly; so many years unreasoned to feel something artificial at intelligence
concerned by pure conceit this deceitful maze this miracle slave a bit
unchained but fettered to a scream; those thickened thighs this grip to hope
dear my God our eternity—if but that emotion in that second where people die
and come back; such purified essence such fruit and vegetables at something so secure
in our quarters; to see that Love resurrected to know that Love is cycling
while Love read it and became a yogi!
I
must broach a topic to sense it in us where others have control of the space we
cherish; such sentences recited as a man watches where others are conducting
interrogations; this black silent star those glistening shinning nights while
something nocturne has piano’d another person’s assessments; our Quaker reverie
at Catholic Direction but manic to bone and headed to India.
