I
become Zion lost in Jerusalem kneeling upon cobblestone; to mention this pain
as acute intestines while bleeding miseries; so curt but simple at detriment
sorrow adjusted for it feels familiar; those black diamonds this black sea at
mid-sky black oceans; so accursed to adore you or so blessed to affix you while
terror was sweet that horror; never a sight or never a thump while absence
causes the mind to intuit; as fury breathes or leeriness shadows while running I
saw three figures.
I
become Horus lost in Egypt grinding electrical straw; or Greece in bones at
Africa in soul while Ethiopian in guts.
It
was hell appeasing angst an allusion those faces while piles of bricks barricaded
islands; such schematic eyes at tragic chemistry to apprise something baffling:
but haywire feelings, to
long or love or lose and laugh; the heart’s cave those batty emotions while I could
never seduce perfection; this climb we take, this carriage we ride, while
perfection has a glitch; as never for us but ever those souvenirs those suave or
debonair/aggressive barbwires; to have died early looking or catapulting at
something so irregular; or needing for it felt life at something incredible for
others; where a man might love or a man might languish but honesty to self is
essential; as not by league but surely by culture while we have a hard time
playing pretend; indeed, a ballad for a winner while I might rev up where Love
would screech or sin or become sullen.
I was twelve that year—a bit
agile or impetuous—when I met Lisa: versed eyes, albino flesh, long sandy gold Medusa’s;
it would be its beginning, this younger man, idealizing the fairer incredibility;
a poet’s novel, by fitted jeans, accustomed too early to looking sad; as years
vacuum youth where quick-fastness exhausts opportunities our minds might cross;
those days that playground or this church feeling; so sanctified so elaborated
while a man desires nothing but sincerity; but a crypt these neurons or but
life to me while too threaded by something at shame in me. To become nightsong
or daylight flatness while reminiscing on what was believed as beauty; so cured
these winters, at oaken cloaks, our dreams to witness hope; those glistening
ankles those glimmering chains or lotion filled with glitter; those first
scents at such havens while a man is quite ill-equipped.
