I re-trek
your prose. I grill each word. to imagine after pure trauma. —this old leopard
this intrinsic displeasure murmuring over so many nouns. sore agony to seem so
close where it hurts to fathom your kef. such caliber, beyond average, where a
man doubts his reach—
I tug
a clinical life. I’m dearly inadequate. While willingness is fatal.
Marigolds or
zinnias or magnolias or bedstraw plants; those bedside angers or slight fever
elsewhere while contention desires poetry: to live this woman to dine upon Asia
while so antisocial; this pathfinder this mountain dweller provided with
nothing but your prose; such smug alienation such self-centered anything while
a compassionate contradiction; those satire queens this interior protagonist,
this Madagascar; so many social mirrors or so much social death if but so many eligible
winners; over whiting with shrimps, or wine with banana bread, or times so
utterly with soil; those others laugh, life is so knitted, while some are
without depth; those fires you set this resonance you beckon or this kite you
shredded; those tender catastrophes so indebted to pain while a woman dies
every day: I was so supportive, I was so gunshot, where I met traumatic resistance;
such soreness, this hatred of men, where sanctioned women have become lesbians.
—but
your prose this limited soul where an old danger nearly crept; our tabloid
faces, our faceless rivers, where a soul might die too much; if but a feeling
than more to resurrection insomuch as we die to live: I saw flying squirrels I became
a desert and I have walked and talked to a grave that is breathing; so many
chainsaws by so many sea-creatures while I pet and groom if but forgotten—
sweet
aye-aye
concentration, where insistence is challenged, while most husbands never meet
their wives; mind-flakes or blanket exaggeration, while
fairer
sex depends upon words;
waterfalls
freezing, sheer flame overcooked, or ceiling fresco under metamorphisms; where
oceans boil, and wolves trek upon lakes, while
a
man might give existence for framed sincerity.
beautiful
Sahara or
this
otter sensation, to grapple with linguistic misery; those bleeding cacti those
leaking mid-brains where prose studied hari-kari; so intent on fragrances or so
aloof to
losing
while moths flood noetic valleys.
I’m a banshee
mulatto or a slight underpinning or nights seated so closely; pure agony to
invest in life where one is penchant otherness; such prose dancing into fury,
while so deliberate a man is enflamed; such mantis celebration or such souls
damned while I never knew what I asked for; pure sugarcane or bamboo sonnets so
uncured growling at the wrong physician; to exit this dynasty or to enter such
legacy as a man unkind to himself.
