I jones-out
those cave-bound years this country of old men; to bleed-out while still
breathing while gut to toes filled with suffering; but Love is capricious and
Love is deadly if but confident enough to grip her; such funny anecdotes or a
plea for a cure while wild or running where wolves seduce; so many rays such
sunshine hells or uncivilized enough to win her. Sewn to irony seeking an
antidote so mystic so charged while skies have become enemies; for a man begged
or a man implored while answers were interior thoughts; our outrageous souls or
those contagious eyes where a man needs something mental: some ache some
strength where a glance is too much.
abused
creatures so steady at therapy while a man became a psychologist—to feud self
or maybe acquire muscles
insomuch
as to decorate the funeral.
I imagine
a son those dear brown eyes to envelope his core-meanings; so vacuumed so put
to trash while bouncing out and tapdancing;
those
rhinestone palms those cavalier nails while over-there, Love is musing; to
figure correctly or to figure in error but nothing is quite true;
this
deconstruction this oracle this fleeing wind—while people claim absolute
particles;
so infused
or such an effusion while mother held cacti;
such
afflatus such inspiration such epiphany to lead life running;
those
dark shadows
those
deep axioms
while
a son is in confinement plotting to be stable.
I
wiggle a little trying to get comfortable while wham a texture familiar. I yin in yang and read mind-matter where it was nice to
fathom clearly. Airwaves
or near arts while one might assert a different form; sestina eyes or ballad
sassiness
or an unread brow; to remove self or to pardon self
such
as required to embrace tomorrow.
I never
spoke this life or courted
transparency while each were
present.
There
is a dream, indicative of each person, where we need understanding; maybe an
untruth, maybe many do not give a damn, but where did that come from—and why
did it stick?
I was
more alert but maybe attracted while she knew her assets; indeed, a little fooling is
close, for I saw the energy, while a circuit was playing the cello; we see
auras, plus, this thought, we fall for swagger—not merely beauty; but a thousand dollar skirt or
a trillion dollar vocabular or so tugged to find one’s encyclopedia; a pair of Clark’s, a
hundred dollar blouse, denims and a pendant; or
a teacher as spouse, and a mediator—but a Bodhi or suffused while the
gates are always opened. So
far from dancing so aloof to strangers while setting becomes entrances; our
transcended souls, our mystic phantoms while once in there one senses a drought
in life; this voice watching those ears seeing or eyes typing.
It is
so amazing or so far inordinate while so lived in one’s temple!
