Sunshine
water, moistened lips, tales told, myth arranged; dying to live, afraid to
live, with music at fevers—pails of tears, sprinkling tulips, they laugh more;
a fret on a diamond, a dream on a professor, territory made blurry. It was
first religion, came science, her soreness, her debates; an ark in a scream,
soft spots near worms, a man bathed from a sink. To have croaked in blackness,
to have desired without promise, to eat for lunch a bucket of pig’s feet. A man
has a name, a name is disgraced, a soul has whips, a soul married Europe. It
felt uneven, a spirit kept pursuing, another decided to leave a man stranded; a
woman knew chills, coldness of a mountain, tablets and tables, arts and beliefs,
sins of father, seduction of mother, bled to live and dying, nonetheless; so
much pain. It comes with truths, rain pouring into a furnace, unsaid furnace,
churning, notwithstanding. To have loved you, to have embarrassment, to rely on
one set of honesties; to desire best of its flourishing, to know with
possession, those aches in arts the dynasty.
