some
are at terrors, disputing existence, laughing
while mourning: this shoebill brain, this kleptic excitement, our dreams flayed
by fears: as casual monsters, as not but gnarms, at wars spewing ink: that activity
heart, those cloves but smaze, or destinies showered by insistence: if but our
shadows, as shorn our visions, while watching for repenting our tyrannies: by
faithful scars, so inborn our lease, our features as slanted demons: that wolf near
landscapes, our Chinese rice, our shrimps sautéed: a woman to secrets, but
furtive lands, scribing as senses pass by—if wilderness struck, our essence by
thieves, to cut with silence the mineral swan: those power-apes, those elephant
mind-drapes, our furious cheetahs…
as
men dying, while forced to apologize, our white men a tear emphatic: that
shifty churn, this fern to cores, at leisure compelled to reason: by deeper
passion, such steep resistance, as it feels perfect to feign our righteousness:
the absent father, such others as complete, or siblings relishing in soul-born
parents.
I
sense a soul, by strategic madness, our palms moist with uneasiness: to trust
lightning, as fire about guts, while feeling capacities:
such
vexing hunger, such pitted goodbyes, such as promises fulfilled by deceivers:
that
winter’s handkerchief, the Pauline destiny, at a three-month curse:
where
Love was gentle, confounded by mudslides, whereas, it felt good to witness
relief:
by
elegant vase, those wood-panel geese, our suspicions come yearning: as souls
collaborate, as Hathaway revives, as daughters lay claim to genetics: such a
racy heartbeat, such fueled mystics, our agonies splayed across infinity: such
ghetto syndrome, or graves rushing to shore, at passion for Love without
hesitation:
such
notorious station art, while winking at panthers, our lionesses striking for
arteries:
as
women marching, while timidity is set aflame, the ache of minded politicians:
our
kingdom might suffer, our gutter-born travesties, those lakes reaching to
supports our rafts: those crazed griffins, those spiritual crows, such as
darkness reflecting inversion:
by
pinecone parrot, those mice squirming passed squirrels, this aunt debating
positions: as men live, a bit frantic about life, at boulders pushed upon high:
where souls perished, our daughter’s passage, while enchanting Olympus.
I
know our plight, knifed by innocence, or torn by allegiance—this fretted
armoire, this cloth by scripture, our hopes for something normal—as abnormal
beings, feeling inadequate, purchasing a nightmare from strange forces: our
odors sifting; our garbage afloat; our aches trespassing our allegiances: if
but to exist, fueled by inflection,
where arts become Victorian high-rises: those castle tenants, or Nebuchadnezzar
insanity, or this hand appearing without origin: our trips to Xanadu, our
transformed albatross, our Moby Heart resurrection: as men of war, or women of
knitting, while crocheting a village of sworn resilience: the mother at tears,
our sons to prisons, the father as giving where lack is perceived: as wanting
perfection, to give in blue-blood, this survey concerning our steepest
yearnings: to laugh by grit, while chewing insanity, fiddling for space scrolls:
the high desert, those valley deer, our eyes mourning for failing to exist.
I
know your challenge, while cleaving to your dreams, this passage as hatching
spiders: those destroyed begonias, this trampled heart-breath, those insidious
undercurrents—as feeling frustration, while smiling, nonetheless, if but this
cut to simmer into diamonds: our wild nightmares, the extraterrestrial, our
esoteric seconds: where something appears, this inner essence, our
psychosomatic friends: as fueled for penchants, our pensive moments, where
resistance transformed the inner swan: our ghetto charms, our ghetto styles,
our kingships constantly surviving—as death to breeds, or life to wafers,
sipping our communion.
