Glossing
over curtains those raspberry textures while seated but fleeing; at junior
inheritance but a file in laboratories or ink-spots and barbeque prints; to see
you but distressed or too close to a dozen compromises; or to see disdain and
laugh it away too curious to ask questions; or compelled seriously while
dreaming of proclivities where a man loses his anchor.
I
watched as they sat—at this divine korsi—eating with solemn concern.
I
opened a book to see a tulip folded in the pages;
to
think in ashes or to feel unsung while listening becomes a challenge.
—a green fleece so
captured by vernal grass or so aloof because it hurts; such unconquered tremors
such indelicate rites or days rehashing something by chambers; this hallway
glint, those bleeding desks, where music is too loud to appreciate; to know you
dearly, or to need to walk further,
while a child yanks its
arm demanding independence—
—such a silent concern or
such silent faces while yours is so angry; our swollen features or one so
intrusive where you want to ask: Are you looking to love me?
such stolen proclivities
into an odd moment while we feel forced to respond according to needs; but some
are gifted and zoning confrontation to yank us back into our quarters—
We
trespass yards, we confide in church, and we watch as days blur into months;
our memories capture but little, our microphones are filled with static, and
our noses are often forced back upon our faces; by marginal memoirs this hectic
reality where it’s designed for those few men; at philosophic tournaments, or
metaphysic linguistics, or writing for selected groups; this deep division, or
such determination, indeed, to alienate us both. This bleak war, this
whirlpool, or those existential woodblocks.
I
know a name, I see a purple blanket, and a lime green snake—but I do not know
you.
I heard a voice where I looked
intently but the voice was merely a body; so zenic at seconds, peering at a
koan, while living something at tug-of-war with itself; or standing out,
indeed, looking its part, while retreating quickly; those grave understandings,
in this cultic war, where most are examining spirit; to have met many, so wild
at legends, while biblic inrushes usually disguise deeper insecurities.
They might destroy image,
they might kill flesh, but it comes for one that's racing.
The
fount is universal. It depends upon design. And it comes while the nib is going
batty. This crazed warning this crazed architecture—but if it wasn’t necessary,
they would ignore you!
