I’ve
seen public faces this dance this tepid aloof dance. I’ve eaten frustration the
gristle of raw anger those tendencies bleeding. I’m pliable rubber in such
agreement while unborn but living. Those thoughts leaking even actualization
leaking while more too honest to speak it. Such awakened possibilities but
never those palms while I feed and feed upon distresses; our mistaken massacres
our embarrassed spirits while so far from Love time is moving backwards; our
humiliated skies our deeper antiquities so rich a little musical house—at dreams
confused to wonder so dearly if it can’t be why such torture? Those captions in
blood those walls by greater men at something feeling indecent; this filthy mop
as over all that would be while such stench wafts into corridors. Such polemical
hostility so arranged to hear our voices while it gets difficult at times;
those reflectors such sweet aroma while drinking a chunk of coals—to whisper
softly, to alight from one’s horse and we pretend no one is looking.
I’ve
reenacted railways trekking silent sediments our palms filled with earth. I’ve
listened to ink so surprised by its openness at seconds dealing with an innocent
stranger. This lecture in me those devoid lights in me while reality is losing
her war.
A
camera is never harmless we drift grow old and reminisce; as dead to life or
broken to brittles at bark and bone and behavior; that chairman of screams or
that chairwoman of dreams while wishes are becoming intimate; many elbows to
tables and many charms to ears while an elderly woman has lost her story; such aphorisms
and art or such dying but extant while a rose by any other name becomes foreign;
such chromatic carrots or romantic attentiveness while many men are forced into
effacements.
I
sat there in eye chatter or some thought that hit while feeling cut into
rebuffed mirrors. This reality we rebox those crayons we melt or those pages we
mark. Every step is magnified at winds carrying whispers while a good friend
one in many. Something strikes it breeds it has become those thought-banks. (Too
eccentric to lose, but too common just to win).
It
requires a few more deaths a few more sacrifices at something we believed was
its last straw; a few more wishing-beans a few more yellow-brick-roads or a few
more situations feeling left out; as missing key ingredients while walking
frustration where in reality they didn’t include us; we just popped up
attempting to fit in while they noticed something different; this Riddler run,
where a man desires Catwoman, but Batman has her gimmick; this space with Joker
this futile and flippant flute—for multiplication but so many mortuaries while
Mandela was just born—in this age of pluralities this beast where wrong is
negotiable and goodness makes a man heavy; those sunrays as never by
discrimination but the purest element this side of California.
I
start to wonder about this intense feeling where two people are apart in the
same exact mood; this trippy coincidence or this mystery wand while Love felt
good a man jumped up and ate reality; such lucent, resplendent cries, such
great granduncle gifts, while sourness becomes bitter and immerging clarities
are quickly made into fixtures (sconce).
