Vulnerability
The miracle you represent. The famed heart chakra. Those pangs in spirit—to die plainly, still breathing. The future you promise. The webs you yield. The hatred, the vengeance, the hope, succession is detached. I was sick for it. I saw it moving. It meant motion. What shall a soul give? a battered reality, more ghetto strife, stepping onto Rodeo Dr. The miracle as it lives. To purchase nothing. To mingle purely in mentality. To find, it doesn’t give enough. So convenient by graces, nothing outwits hebetation. So thin a fragment, so seducing a smile, to have knit with ink, to have nurtured by smokestack, such a koan, trying in turn, filled with life. A compartment shielded, shared with few—those dreams, those hidden barriers, seduction doesn’t denote love, passion doesn’t mean rapture …. I spoke to a thin line, so divorced from itself, so free to live, so much freedom to fret anguish. I was a child watching. I noticed a countenance. It was broken laughter. It was sorrow with happiness, a whiff of liquor. I never imagined it. It was right afore me: vocal walls, chilly ceilings, wafting Chinese food, deep and damaged beliefs, angered, refused a second glance, beliefs. Years would test genetics. Circumstance would induce sadness. A soul is resilient before it inverts. Love vetted her name, conversed with mirrors, has known rooms, has dug self out of darkness, such to un-favor me, to become ever weary, just soaring into a sky capsule. The suffering one undergoes: it becomes difficult to mention. Such truth in the following: most are going through miseries, having a time with listening to miseries. one says, “We don’t say that.” Another retorts, “Why not, it’s partly true.”
II
What in hell they do to me? the only one, right? It’s what we sing, a palm nailed by songs. Some never thaw out. Some roses last longer. A man needs what he can’t sustain; a woman is filled by God. A deep meaning there. It requires reading an entire bible. I was reading Dead Sea Scrolls when it struck. I committed a sin: I was rewriting scripture. I was connecting those dots in the Scrolls. It was heavy into a storm, a blizzard. A decent reason; an innocent coffin; a lasting casket. It seemed appropriate. Nonetheless, love as it appears, ripples as they waver, billows as they hit a shore—drastic elements, realizing something keen: mingling is to tamper with a slant—everything becomes as if cymbals, life is one tragic cartoon. To go in, to stay in there, with nay, a breath, is assured deaths. Nevertheless, we might need something, we might need entanglement, inveiglements—the curse of knowing too much to explain. With rosaries seeming apropos; with orison seeming to have functionality; with haughtiness seeming to come with pains. Wishing to move into revelation, realizing in parts, such deliverance, such a quantum need. The leap of heart oceans.
III
It wasn’t too difficult to follow a set agenda. They imagine havocs, heathens; they side with subtraction, too many to count. I never said for completeness; I never laid claim beyond my circumference. Can an angel pass out? Can a demon become exhausted by heat? I hear lyrics: I’m left to marvel. I see women, I fret the riddles. Such existence, such reality, asking: What is my life? So philosophic. So unending. Negotiating with nihilism. Supported by existentialism. The feeling of texture, a ghostly excellence, to have a foundation for a few beliefs. So experiential. So emphatic. With seeds trying to breathe. They would speak to it—the poetic maze took a change. Bred to give life; so great the misnomer; if one knew, they’d try so desperately. It might be true, if not for dichotomy; it might be ashes to ashes, dirt to dirt. I don’t side that way—evidence seems to remain in carnality, unless, the experiential, to put God on trial, to ask Jesus a few questions. So nauseated by it all. This is life by it all. Thrust through, mesmerized by faith. Remembering each story, taking to its design, seeing how we can’t ask, chastised for the sin of inquiry. Such a paradox. I speak to it daily—wondering of the grand scar, if to approach a consensus. We pick our sides; we learn to argue their points. Each belief is a sign to a vulnerability.
