like power like
stingray like ministry. if a crisp sentence as becoming flesh—the best in you.
sweet midnight, summer blizzards, winter sunshine. storms inside, language
inside so taboo our classifications. sunrise at noon. rain in autumn. many
orange leaves. some ventriloquist—keeps screaming love—a man is truly a puppet.
we have no idea, we can’t fathom moons, we keep screaming love. upon a viola,
in a dark/scented box, she dances like geishas. a mind disguised. a mental
shoji screen. a man’s doorjamb. waxing into a feeling, longing for
reappearance, made critical by flames. quiet tornadoes halfhearted resistance
upon trembling lips. it was easy to run faster. it was pain to see your shadow.
it was ruthless to unveil your lover.
too good for me, or too bad for me, while we have a New Year’s
resolution. indeed, it’s August, a black centered month, many are riding
rollercoasters. volcanic
surprises. giggling dolphins. a Christmas tree in September. over apricots
sprinkled with powder aside a bagel; we speak of marine creatures, we tease of
laughs, it has become a nightmare. too subtle to receive, too bold to miss,
often, a person will treat according to location. like plankton, passion is essential,
made more valuable than love. sisters, cousins, in-laws. whatever it may be,
hand-in-hand, traipsing the shoreline. so delicate we play pretend. so close we
need more. so distant we feel others.
