…sun-dew
smiles, or paranoid screams, or quasi-flatness: these rifts with deaths, those
angular charms, as crows follow sedans: this musical ballet, this inner
syndrome, and foggy glass: our voice prints, our soul prints, or better, our
thought prints: this cactus flower, at breath but a night, our bats siphoning
nectar…. —we examine wounds, we
muffle our guitars, while some wear head-foil: this major monster, this muddied
sanitarium, or hospitals becoming by horror pictures: while charged with energy,
seduced by windy hopes, wherefore, our dreams become romantic: this place for us, those realistic harbingers, or this
Good News Frenzy. I felt unquiet, I
feel unquiet, as it becomes this particular station: this fussy life, this
fuzzy portrait, this annoying ritual: wherewith, these butterflies, or
particles of vomit, or cloudy with thoughts about waves: this water cousin,
this depressed chimpanzee, or this process to heal something undefined: at
plural locations, at plural screams, or active somewhere close to
intentionality: those growling orchids, such beauty sacrificed, or such beauty
eating our guts: our Venus Fly Trap, this bug eating plant, those metaphorical
designs—as lost grappling, or found but a second, to suckle with death
watching: our animal tissues, those desert roses, and those hypnotic water
lilies.
…sun-dew
cries, our arid Australia, our flying foxes: such dehydration, trekking this
vast sky, and hoping for spirit-water: this vital power, this dry thunder, our
wintry spy-brains: to awaken in thought, such leafless concrete, such nomadic
realities: if but to live, as afforded one error, where Love becomes gelada
glee: those tamarin charms, those tarsier glances, those astute vervet monkeys:
as aches a child, laughing while retreating, or actively ignoring internal
whispers: this clinic for souls, this generalized disposition, this closeness
afforded by great distance: this normal reality, this normal existence, where
one is subject to appreciation: this primate life, our antiquitous genetics,
and this space in bones crying: as young helicopters, or jasper engines, while
becoming junkyard transmissions: as purchased by arms, to rebuild oldness,
while scarred one performs pretty well: this living sanity, this secluded cave,
or public life feeling observant….
