Just
say, "Love"—that miracle ride, as hiding from ourselves; this crazed adventure,
while secluded deeply, shoving and pushing, pulling and flames, adrift through
terrible misery; this calm exchange, as animals dying, too wild for farming
cultures; our cognitive addictions, as chained terrorists, aflame our
scholarship; this sipping frenzy, to ache that heart, while living straight lines.
I’m cold and warm, too crisp for textures, abandoned to pining: that eloquent
love, as sequenced in darkness, while to echo this demon: our cherished
effacement, stranded at abatements, such burning achy ass veins. Oh to love us,
this film for study, this classic affliction; as hells by logic, and tears by reason, this flash, this drive, this
sky-fever—as wells to Venus, or jails to Neptune, greeted to distance and dying
to pestilence: if but a crime, those years to weights, while extracted they
lived: this fancy showcase, so slender to touch, too much that soul aching our
curves; to have for terrors, this inner Sade, too flushed to kiss—where minds
wander, this flimsy passion, accursed to roam vacant pastures—as provocative
souls, that built to die for, as rubbing and tugging and gripping by deaths:
our voices crying; our actions cursed; to find epicurean pleasures; indeed, by
love, our fated daffodils, to give by kef our last embrace…this losing fool,
afar to turquoise eyes, at brains those fiery bangs…where life has matter, or
love fails to breathe, while flaming in cold furnaces. I’m deep this love, to
capture vulnerability, alive by texture as lost to winds; those glens afar, as
crossing our lakes, to pause for drowning; as social insanity, or casualties
grieving, while holding to warfare; that beige phlegm, as hacking his guts,
aflame that gentle womb; to course through time, as thunder to thrust, accursed
and dying with wings; to love as peasants, that gracious vineyard, those pagan
paintings: if but to winds, this dance of fools, to love abandoned to
animalism; to pull and yank and trust and die—this passage to wills, a petal those scars, as sharing
nothing.
