I
was small in you, but a first gaze, and playing piano—those amaranth smiles
those Arcadian roots while thoughts whittled a cypress tree; too confused to
speak, or too much a shadow to dance, walking or stalking hallway doors.
It
would be this time so bogged by introductions where it looks different than it
sounds; this gray apartment this rusty pipe of cooking with reused lard.
A
younger person looking like father by a woman escaping whoredom; so many gates
in this closet so much horror yet to come while a five-year-old is bathing in whispers;
no play for chimes or elephants waltzing while bears would chatter some jingle.
I
would take to differentials this mathematic inevitability where if it looks
different it must be better;
the sound of strange
voices this particular bounce while traffic was all-night fever; this gift
while unsighted or this promise churned coldness into a room made solace.
Days
would pass while gawking at windows or polishing furniture; Cinderella would
enter all published in pink and speaking kinder than God.
Upon
a lace-leaf or pictured in a fairy-tale those wings so gentle they hurt.
Those
lilac eyes those dusty beige ceilings those smoky walls—this living-room fog
such scorpion genetics while floating through blackdamp; pure undertow or a
palm of silt so encouraged to defeat coyotes; this infant to worlds this kernel
in granny upon a black fate.
Mahogany
floors and threads or beads accustomed to plywood prayers—this orison balcony
this snapdragon pain as such a dragging and babbling magnolia; those concert,
motherly, tender, encased eyes—as seen so early before disappearing.
Such torn pressure this
tile would scream or quicker snapshots; as flashes become vocal as design
implodes those conduits or pristine miseries; to again those concerns while
many might ask but none knew by remedy—this piercing crane this cultic anchor
while so forced to refrain where others dance.
I
craved for elixir so prior to reasoning where instincts suggest something is
askew; but a steak with rice in a lonely room this table as witness; those soundless
ripples to know more by absence or adorned by addict acrylics; those mental matinees
those paths to instability while something tragic becomes the ‘norm’;
mood-swing keyboards or self-centered demands where a child adores with fervor;
pulled in further, such remarkable laughter, while many are unsolicited
freedom; by courage to voice life or unheard upon railways or lost in terrifying
tunnels; so stunned by behavior, until it seems appropriate, where others
appear abnormal.
