so
tribal so lost it used to sense nature—the fair fire the fragile pain, so path
rotten or dead. to hate or dislike where deserts are lakes or creeks or the
brooks are looking unfree. lips apart so dark with fury such imageries glow
purple as nights fall. (I love the ocean or our Sun Lake while it feels too
lonely: the caring wife the despondent gut, or mother planting a flag—the terror
of dying so hectic trying to climb stairs. a maniac machine so deep into skies
where a little yoga seems splendid.) a soul at dimensions something beckoning
while we need certainty, its space; nothing realer than perception the lonely
table, it only came to life on contact; else, it’s never seen, it remains unnoticed,
but eye-affection brought out its colors. the purest blockage the bellicose response
those rivers fleeing into veins. color is absent the lover has no words where
support is a mountain those tablets: an eye for his arteries a mind for his
destitution or devastated at a kitchen crawling under a refrigerator. we see
West the desert as it cries the soul unbearably with courage—those myriads as
creating arts so thrown so stretched apart; our women trying, needing stability
or something screaming it understands; as cursed caricatures such a million
bees where the hornet is a goat. (I value the explanation, I have heard the
phone call, as sounds grip our universe; such a clock aside Pandora’s Box while
fathers or sons fever into psychotic pandas.) if to follow his soul if to arise
in his glory while I needed the best of what father had to give; but a solitary
eagle or a madness chipmunk at some pit a snake awaiting naivety; so cut
through so slanted while I see things differently. to ponder a chart, or become
curious while it asserts accuracy. to have cupped a baby to have burped a soul
while toes too small to smell odiferous; the cup so empty, those ceilings so
otiose or running from imageries so close to his synaptic gap. such brown eyes
such brown souls where America is indebted to black folks.
