can’t
give full disclosure. can’t redeem silence.
the earth
is surrounded—by seabirds, snakes,
and
oceanic beaut(s)—the fire of trials, by
ink-ashes,
those mountains, seduced by
opposites—the
rough anxieties, an inner mannequin,
by
life, death, or science. some supercell,
seeded
inside, sewn in anguish, rummaging joys,
possessing
some piece of the self I shan’t become.
by
the glasses of opera, gusts of sanity, the fight I
must
abate, in some gathering, so impolite
to self.
by the aftermath of the spell, sluggish
with
effort, webbed, sleeping but awakened,
tugging
the lower self. reading a distinguished
specimen,
traipsing a wire, gathering parts of
wisdom.
an unwrapped creature, a perpetual
doorjamb,
listening to the life of ad hoc.
it
was with body, made of virtue, bothered to
possess
unease: toils, flaming tumbleweed, a
need
to return to centeredness.
II
I’ve
much more to learn, much more to fight for;
to watch
time, it beats its sequences, and
life
will come, go, move, play, discuss itself. if
to
find you, in saffron jeans, making joy,
giving
mercy, over affidavits and appeals.
I’ve
days to hope more, ripe for essence, and
dispute.
to plead the case—of souls or spirits
or
fever by wire, aside wilder boars made filthy.
to
follow grayness, in touch with feelings, made
a
creature of winds, the sudden gusts, by sparks.
I’ve
nothing to rejoin, where palms would sign:
blues
and jazz, the jukebox, the river in pain;
so
intense, rough ocean rain, aside ink and wine;
close
to have reduced shame, never again.
