…at
nighted terrors, or midday delights, or this thought concerning correlation:
our acme grins, this channel for CoverGirl, this trenchant mulatto—our
musicality, our quadroon miracles, or angst to psychotic doubts: as souls
trying hard, this difficult force, or our ambiguities concerning our queens:
this midnight clamor, as soothing with emphases, while courage dwindles to meet
this beast: our agonizing head-storms, our liquid elixirs, or these fancies
with Lopez: to die with kings, this hand speaking linguistics, our reach
sealing this wall: at casual daughters, or dugite mothers, or fathers raising
another man’s loss: this manikin explosion, this moody vehicle, our engines
blending into mystic transmissions: this inner professor, this inner
psychologist, or more as seeming life this cryptic psychiatrist: to die at
knees, to bleed in greens, or to measure as one sick for passion: this romantic
edge, this YouTube frenzy, or this escape from feelings: as glassed in wires,
or hourglass insanities, to ruin such as reality: this pale woman, this
brilliant potential, to sense so much dying…. I feel European, or more, with Africa, or
home with African American: to imagine, Smith, this glimpse with sin, while
nodding at sudden churns: our feudal enterprise, this coyote mentality, where
roosters are howling all night again: this plaid shirt, this locust’s blouse,
or this uncomfortable leather skirt: for deaths are crucial, where life was
ungentle, at wonders that our swan seems so distant: at granny’s gavel, at
gramps’ clock, where stepfather is fully convinced: this winter at arms, this
summer with charms, where Brittany is vying alone. I Fenty a thought, this glamorous shade, and
this mahogany trefoil: as bleeding reality, or soaring with gila(s), this sky
of reindeer monsters: to slither with Stewie, or to crave with Quixote, while
Adonis seems to have fallen from angst: this terrible curse, at various
rehearsals, where it felt pained to miss those eyes: as feeding intelligence,
or rendered for insanities, while our seed mingles with strangers: if but to
love, as but to die, a man will exalt that cryptic mother: or perish with
deaths, or cherish with breaths, else a seed might disappear: this remarkable
claim, this woman laughing, our Rihanna’s at silent cringes. […how have we died, so addicted to one
womb, and so crazed it becomes palpable: our screaming profanities, as
deceiving myriads, while gramps sides with pure conviction: this time in life,
while eating tamales, while feeling concerned about life: this Pacific Coast,
this Malibu excursion, or this shrine peeking in refreshments: as curious
Hindus, or dervish Sufis, as cries our years in Rumi: this bent with life, this
marvelous instructor, while torn from a breakdown: our days with Fendi, our
denim jeans, our Diesel hats: as men loving abandonment, while torn this
remarkable force, to ask for life this incredible woman: our nights fleeing,
our days running, our evenings returning: as moons whisper, as sunshine rains,
to pet with harmony this insipid gazelle…].
I felt for Lindsay, this terrible reality, this charmer at snakes: our
years at refuge, our centuries as refugees, or our realities in Haiti: to slice
our pies, while laughing our guts, where daughters watch feeling a bit uneasy:
this quadroon curse, this mulatto curse, where reality appears as something
unreasonable: if but to waft, or but to scud, this tension with appearances: to
sense something extracted, to hear a subtle whisper, or to realize that sights
are constructed: our rubescent feelings, our magical eyes, or this rare event
where reality is forged: as true insistence, as raging is-ism, but fabricated upon a certain mental disposition. I adore as unseated—this parade with
chimes, where Love agonizes over myriad insanities: to have this curse, where
nothing is respected, while we repudiate anything that doesn’t kiss donkey:
indeed, to laugh, as shorn to purpose, where Love has grown in force: this Star
Trek convention, this remarkable breed, or atheists to life singing a subtle
song: this vest in souls, this climb above, or miracles to light feuding for
eternity: as long limbs, or short palms, where swans sing in acapella.
