By arc
to live, breathing helium, corner to curb and swerving;
a
day poolhall, a gift for words, alive and sinning;
automatic
rebuttals, shy talk, speaking, nonetheless.
Love
interrogates, clothing cleaving skin, makes a soul conscience.
I
was daydreaming, watching her hypnotize, so quick to bite into her lip
…
good waves, bad feelings, many trying to play piano—one can take this!
I grip
a tussock of grass, I palm an anthill, feeling tacks, punctures, knicks, etc.
We
loss one, at isolation, character is concerned with perception
—rather
live than croak, on multiple levels.
The
first at it, usually the first at it, so many—the flicker of blue flame—one can
take this!
I
can’t emphasize it, crowded eyes, illusions of connectivity.
(We all know. It
remains forbidden, unless, with privacy in motion.)
Couldn’t sleep it
off, at it until it spoke, most must mulct the soul.
Totally abstract,
as if, an artifact in sins, like winning through opposite elements.
The beast
in essence, the ruins in mentions, one might visit and disappear.
I
would love in accordance, trying equilibrium, missing my exit.
Love
was intoxicating, hanging on edges, tiptoeing her night cares.
We
might need chastisement, vests, exposed to the elements;
oriented,
abandoned at a doorstep, some one strange to an infant:
a
difference in odors, stale stenches, laughter made alarming—rather live, one
might adjust, another might become what disgusts us.
In existence the
battle for cleanness, at terrible confliction, years made of confusion: What
was mother’s name, aside a living quarters fraught by chains, at father as
primary source?
The
last to get rest. The first to take to parallels. Trying to piecemeal a puzzle.
Bless us, Father!
