…some
at terrors, disputing existence, laughing
while mourning: this shoebill brain, this kleptic excitement, our dreams flayed
by fears: as casual monsters, as not but harms, at wars spewing ink: that
cavity heart, this clove smaze, our destinies showered by insistence: if but
our shadows, as shorn our visions, while watching for repenting our towers:
that faithful scar, this inborn lease, our features as slanted demons: that
wolf to landscapes, this Chinese rice, our shrimps sautéed: that woman to
secrets, this furtive land, scribing as senses pass by—if wilderness struck,
this essence in thieves, to cut with silence this inner swan: those power-apes,
this elephant mind-drape, our furious cheetahs…as men dying, while forced to
apologize, our white men a tear emphatic: that shifty churn, this fern to
cores, at leisure compelled to reason: this deep passion, this steep
resistance, as it feels perfect to feign but righteousness: that absent father,
this other as complete, our siblings relishing in soul-born parents. I sense a soul, this strategic madness, our
palms moist with uneasiness: to thrust lightning, this fire about guts, while
feeling capacities: such reckless hunger, such pitted goodbyes, such as
promises fulfilled by receivers: that inner handkerchief, this Pauline destiny,
this three day curse: where Love was gentle, confounded by mudslides, whereas,
it felt good to witness reliefs: that elegant vase, those wood-panel geese, our
suspicion of yeast: as souls collaborate, as Hathaway revives, as daughters lay
claim to genetics: this racy heartbeat, this fueled mystic, our agonies splayed
across infinity: such ghetto syndrome, or graves rushing to shore, this passion
for Love without hesitation: that notorious station art, this winking at
panthers, our lioness striking for arteries: as women marching, while bras set
aflame, this ache in serious minded politicians: our kingdom while suffering,
our nutty born travesties, this lake reaching as supports our rafts: those
crazed griffins, this spiritual crow, such as darkness reflecting inversion:
this pinecone parrot, those mice squirming passed squirrels, this aunt debating
positions: as men live, a bit frantic this life, at boulders pushed upon high
mountains: where Sisyphus perished, our daughter’s passage, while enchanting
Mount Olympus. I know our plight,
stabbed for innocence, but torn by allegiance—this fretted armoire, this cloth
by scripture, our hopes for something normal—as abnormal beings, feeling
inadequate, purchasing a five piece from Vons: our odors sifting; our garbage afloat;
our aches trespassing our allegiances: if but to exist, fueled by inflection, where arts become Victorian
high-rises: those castle tenants, or Nebuchadnezzar insanity, or this hand
appearing without origin: our trips to Xanadu, our transformed albatross, our
Moby Heart resurrection: as men of war, or women of knitting, while crocheting
a village of sworn resilience: that mother at tears, our sons to prisons, this
father as giving where lack is perceived: as wanting perfection, to give in
blue-blood, this survey concerning our steepest yearnings: to laugh by grit,
while chewing insanity, fiddling for space dust scrolls: that high desert,
those valley deers, our eyes mourning for failing to exist. I know your
challenge, while cleaving to your dreams, this passage as hatching spiders:
those destroyed begonias, this trampled heart-breath, those insidious
undercurrents—as feeling frustration, while smiling, nonetheless, if but this
cut to simmer into diamonds: our wild nightmares, this extraterrestrial, our
esoteric seconds: where something appears, this inner essence, our
psychosomatic friends: as fueled for penchants, our pensive moments, where
resistance transformed this inner swan: our ghetto charms, our ghetto style,
our kingships constantly surviving—as death to breads, or life to wafers,
sipping our communion.
