naked
tragedy or open room for opportunity so un-fleshed and mother’s son—for father
vanished a disappearing magician where granny participated this raison
disputed; our cannibal eyes our lascivious brains while we attempt to re-dirt
our women; at a wonderful fantasy so equipped a soul while writing and chancing
and becoming an integral voice. those technique shadows this interior archetype
so conscious at love and angered she cannot hear—as a creature with a daughter
and an influence into fire while it was nice to play violin; our ghetto
excitements our ghetto depletions of something seeming unfair—this world of
warriors this wedge between fences insofar as a candle atop this walnut frenzy;
assaulted by facts while I never complain but damn so many afforded but so
little; our reasoning habits our moons bleeding while so comfy it hurts; where
Love was a myth and days were candy while eruption blew passed a young man’s
armor. this semblance as but an impression this man’s universe in touches and
groans as seated and running; such serene perfume such silent victory as
perfected asperity or defective alterity—those nights feeling communion or
those mornings a solid greeting abused and lost or found and dissolving our
ghettoes. I took a sunbath and laughed with Christ while Jesus’ people are a
bit estranged from me; this Shepherd of poetry this welt in battle so accursed
and aggravated. but there you are as rising in cane fields so gorgeous so
invisible and God refuses to die; someone is screaming about El Shaddai where
someone is lifted raging about alleluia our curse our values and our
determination to worship. this limelight so tenacious and this lightfast
inclination while fluorescent pain hovers over one brilliantly at joys;
thereunto this gentle and distinguished creature a man needing his destination
where cards are dealt displayed as pure delusion. this broken passion those
broken dice or something given to one so trained for his inheritance; this
reaching for more those tall blades while grass over here is teal blue. I
have loved excitement where presence is of key importance while rejuvenated
holding our ghettoes closely; our minds disputing stardust our deeper
travesties on angel-dust while reality is never something we seriously desire;
this downpour of tragedies, this losing of something bleeding his veins, or
this professor needless to comport; as devastated souls and rereading scripture
so at peace a second in time. our undone heritage our African songs while true
bliss in ghettoes is unsung; for something desires your life and something
needs those kibitz while life becomes tidbits of something too spectacular to
fully achieve. those wings as descriptive as adjectives or hurt but beauty
where we become cement; to crave this challenge as a fool craves Cleopatra
where devastation is inevitable.
in pure
catastrophe staring at death’s glance where something is tugging for existence;
this internal mechanism this internal mathematics or this pervasive
persistence; as demanding triumph where reasons aren’t apparent but sutured and
sullen and gathered in sequences; thither such awesomeness that one time
experience where synaptic(s) are flooded and experience is chiming; while one
is watching, this truth I must trespass, as something always remains by
investigation. those deep seconds or those halo daughters or maybe so sucked
into life repercussions seem childish; such gumdrop pensiveness at something
too deep to extract wherewith something concrete is debating with
abstracts—this terrible realization this prophetic vigil upon our future where
life comes in variegated patterns; such miracle dynamite or something
genetic-knit where albeit unprepared a deep hunch drives towards something
wholesome: our ribcage petals, our magnificent realizations, or perfected
intuition.
