founded in fantasy—adoring sweet
water—ice cubes made of lemonade.
the illusion is beautiful, hurtful,
angry at us.
the K-9 keeps gnawing the
furniture. it’s a nervous habit.
fawning, loving, angst and anxiety,
touching tentatively. I can’t live that way.
one pushes boundaries. most women
speak clearly. most artists push passed boundaries.
delusions are faithful. they never
retreat. it’s up to the perceiver.
cascading opulence, in fatal
attraction, craving agape.
in seducing the
seduced, the rootless becomes roots, some medium, while addicted to sex.
let it reign freely—the parts of
arcs the hearts in space as agreed to perish with distance.
would one rescue a shrew? of
course, hoping for allegiance.
determined to purpose as anguish—structural
chaos—an odd paradox. so fused by wealth—of the command, so close to hating
each other. reciting courage mantras, feeling the burn of sages, a silent,
namaste. christic biases, tendentious cavalries, a soul reading into western
agendas. many as tribal, all ethnicities, so far back before the Vikings. souls
merging, pulling back, the felt lost, to appear again. the torture of hating,
if repudiated, both suffering because it brings life. another watches,
contently inconstant, writing a novel, scribbling a poem—not for publication—rather,
to get the juices growing.
I have spawned insecurities,
flavored uneasiness, even a claim—we yearn for a little discomfort.
I will not color spiders, and legs,
and spectacles.
hyenas or humans, hurt, in search,
raging out of hells?
there is a ritual to freedom. we
must find it.
no longer a chase—for the perfect entrée,
I’d prefer a real to earth, multifaceted creation in time.
pure pandemonium—inside of skin, so
paramount to our curse; the sighted pain, outpouring essence—I have thought to
why it matters so much.
suffusion rationality, an effusion
of realization, unrectified, the death of the beauty in us.
