I
feel
queasy
a
palm of invitations an insidious bottle:
our whining
dispute
an
unbearable mirage a terrible scream:
our
lakes at doors our visions at brooks those precious jewels; to love as living
to feel but driven our ambitions redeeming our doubts; by measurable fights, such
sorrowful laws, our miserable joys; if but by helicopter our internal wheels by
droves those friends: as one aborted the fragile fetus a living miracle: our
casual heart-flux but cemented fire, those thoughts to persons; the writing moon,
our fathers grieving, our grandparents by wisdom;
if
but to fly, accustomed to fevers, this lagoon by elation.
I met a swan tunneling
immortality palming earth; that green fate, that biblic picture, those biblic rattlers;
as floating men, by islands of riches, our souls trekking northbound; our silent
ancestors, our tiger genetics, but flushed by America; as losing innocence,
while gaining strategies, our patient souls; by sinning grasshoppers, or waxing
our fences, at turns, distressed by existence; such ancient charm, such inner
feelings, those questions concerning valued theories;
the sky running, the
seagulls watching, but a bag of chips.
I
hear rain. I’m chasing crickets. I’m standing and becoming eager.
As children
crawling, by mauling manifesto, our barbwire creatures; our wives to studies,
our arts to worries, such essence working its system; by reaching radiance, such
biting caricatures, our days to thunder; his gut speaking, his heart as ruts, the
visitor as implementing change; as esoteric, or flying barracudas, as gifted
accustomed to wraiths; those impressions dangling, those daughters amazing, by
a gallon of mystics; if but with dreams, if but with censorships, if but to
destroy obstacles—that man running, as leaping sharpness, while pushing a
two-ton boulder; such high mountains, those unlit candles, such a scorching
abrasion; as stung with silence, wrestling to break free, accused of losing
nature; our panda friends, or Vietnam, our battles leasing our higher selves;
those historic camps, by inner concentration, our eyes scrolling venom: as
human abilities, an Irish moon, as Catholic Bishop; those reeling Buddhists, such
relished Hindus, our outlandish dreams; if broken by lights, than captured those
freedoms, our choice to persevere; as academicians, or addict-tumblers , our
minds racing to attach our guts; where Love is brilliance, as before our times,
to muse upon an aesthetic goose; by golden egg, by inner yogi, our music
becoming chambers.
I’ll love eternally,
so to feel free to float, as men unsure of positions; such climbing insanity as
by mad carriages, those chariots coming for Elijah; as Elisha pleads, as
Adullam begs, as Ahab grovels; by portion by thieves, as ancient agendas, our newborn
Platonic(s); if but by Egypt, as assumed by Greeks, founded as alert in France;
our Europeans, our American sages, our shamans by Indian caves;
where ours becomes pain, or incremental joys,
or farmer-life painted by presumed realities;
this glowing swan,
this inner Polycarp, this warfare distorting its actualities; as pressure
assumes, where reality is cruel, while indebted to miseries; our shifts by
turns, our essence by deaths, our breaths as mystic;
to encourage,
where lose has rulings, while swans fly freely; the eagle’s arms, those
tentacle palms, that piano lonely for composition; by composure us dying, our
souls arriving,
those flames by
descending; as men churning, or mothers at wonder, or cousins decoding—this
miracle called, Existence, this
valley called, Insistence, this alley
as stressing those mystical joints.
