I
lost integrity I sold it in mid-traffic it was given for cotton. I loved by
nonchalance we touched fire and once I lost it, it appeared to be love. soft
comfy wine velvety winter teas as souls converse by sorrow’s anguish.
we design to exist,
while flushed burgundy, or insisting self is irresistible; those tales we
intuit those grains we tug such puffy ottomans; by cataract crises by longer
disputes if but to love such upheaval; our dabbling toothaches our lips such
sweetness while fire is arranged by flickers; so cursed to meet so damaged to
separate where a later thought pitches its devotion.
so close
there, so irremovable, while one is determined to cuff; those lawns in Michigan
or those tales in Manhattan or our voyage through Tibet; to reminisce upon
petals to have felt false elegance or to love like passion costs trillions;
removed from us even scolding us with sheer existence percolating us; so many
miles to freedom to arrive in Canada or revisiting something underground; as
prone those ashes or accursed this life so unsteady but centered.
I
would watch us so declared to absorb us while fixation led to poetic madness.
I wrote
like living I flew my kites I saw rosarium in clouds. such forced screams such
bodily aches if but to go too far; for we never confess where blockage is
prominent
instead
we harbor our guilt.
I depend
on you reading, to fill in the breaks, or I determine for more clarity—the sweet
smell of laughter those forces I harbor while Love is hysteria I’m sinking
softly: to
look
at magenta if tears need by comforter while smiling or feeling solemn joys;
as
met in solitary fiddling a mini-jukebox at some essence feeling closer to
pains; our intimate legacies this stream modified where reality is consensus;
moving
motion or twenty-years to issues while grandmama cut the cancer; a miraculous fever
or voodoo in boxes while a chain of links threshed my door.
There
was interior loudness I was close to Africa where pure essence transcended; by ravished nights or
mid-morning it flew into its cage; this body shivering the lake midair or those
ripe times;
to have
remorse for
extravagance
or to need but unlikely if but to know the deadliest love;
as
it becomes obsessive, as it possesses ghosts, while in trance I conversed with
a wraith; our guts, Granny, our lost seas while the ocean was there last
motion;
this
desert greenness those island grapes while I kept the
scorpion’s
poison; in deeper mud this emotion for elixir where some refuse to live; those
kitten eyes so steep our pride if but to live or soar or closer mimics.
