Not looking, most
located, subtracted from graces; asking wild wilderness, traipsing through
roads, the meadows bleeding. Love knew me, prior to conversation, I wonder—Was she
correct, Was it satisfying? And longing churns, belief is witness, California
ghosts. So dislodged, disrupted, discharged from her worship; much debut, more
debris, touching and moving, sullen upon piano, each key a tear—and more
rumors! I decide upon an apple, Eden screaming, so grand a woman, where to
locate Wisdom? I ate fruit, so simplistic, by symbol, and was never wronged.
The gift she sits, those eyes, the nape of skies, the
skyline of scars, aching in modesty, laughing, running water, with gold near
the garden.
Asking before terrors, washed and livid, the politic the
ark inside, a box made of whispers, those miles in traffic, the cut inside, a
gnat he ate, a cake she baked, and granny went bizarre.
Closing a stream, eyes winking, a soul with prowess, an
alphabet in Japan—the plush we feel, the deaths we reel, like holograms the
audience we never selected.
