Grasp as Living Empty; and Such Fullness; and such Thunder

I pop my ears; I hear my throat; I see your courage: this vessel speeding, that slow pace, that calm womanhood: as faces spinning, or losers winning, or darkness sinning: that clairvoyance, those Cardi B tendencies, or this stripper’s diligence: our guts to Lopez, our thwart frustrations, or unthawed existence: to come through deaths, where rules were excluded, while heads-to-heels this extravagant love: our photos laughing, our knuckles breathing, as life before death our philosophic(s): as technical dungeons, or hardcore women, to evaporate slowly looking at genius: those smart professors, this incredible disappearance, those mental faxes: to ingest insistence, this place for ruler-ship, and that need to decipher for our mirrors: our blue-blood falcons, or oxygen to wands, those burgundy nightmares: to care so little, as to forfeit billions, while holding to another soul’s reflection…this pool’s dragonflies, this inverted tawny, or this remarkable imagination: at years with racism, at moments with humans, or around this world meeting indecisions.    

I saw you gently; I died with thoughts; I resurrected in smiles: this unforgiveness, this livid light, our personalities: as beauty to souls, this Islamic revival, or courage to exist: this magnificent rose, this dying marigold, this blooming daisy: alive with curses, as spoke our dreams, to have what we barely see: as mental participants, and spacial indigents, while crucial a sudden entrance: as trancelike albatrosses, or ships gliding offcourse, at insistence this fragrance wafting nearby: our broken hopes, our florid imagination, or make-believe elixir serving by justice: to sense marvelous, that hall of banquets, or this speaking incantation: as but looseness, or hard for facts, while, nonetheless, as worried as hell.     …it’s been leniency, or miracle dreams, wending to Jamaica: our supernal minds, our early mornings, our restless nights: to want you and tripping, or to solace us and tripping, where Love is wrecked and tripping: our itchy-sweaty-scalps, or brains pursuing missions, to hear but whispers: this inner hissing, or this sound angel, to filch a second by gravity: this woman as folklore, this feeling in allegories, or tenets supporting but twelve months: those dying instincts, this photo of Love, or places where money becomes shy…as irrigated passions, to exaggerate your womb, where such becomes distressing: because life is Love, her body and gut, as one picklock’d by pure Reality: as rapt’d in essence, or bleeding Jesus, to affront Yahweh: that inner shadiness, this moonish collar, this pound of sea-garbage—as Love would perish, or tremble a ghost, while so deep at penmanship: this marvelous drool, this fabulous fool, or nights feeling abruptly schooled: this terrible tendency, this remarkable inclination, or this grip freaking out his intestines: to arrive lately, feeling offcourse, and smitten by pure genius: our nocturne demons, or Junoesque renaissance, or rebellious affections: this running cheetah, that grand splendor, to awaken laughing and screaming: where brains are permanent, and kitsch is fleeting, to realize this need for chances: as retreated a soul, and gutted a rule, where passion seems rootless….

I greet in illness; I revolve as pistols; and I offer nothing but few experiences: this ensemble bleeding, this emblem reviving, or mantras taken a bit higher: to misknow self, as incorrigible beings, where Love is want for clarity: our hieratic(s), this guiding vehicle, this inward compass: to ask our guidance, as influenced by emotion, this question seeming inappropriate: as indelible creatures, or impassioned creatures, our mornings filled with harbingers—or insoluble attics, while committed to agonies, where love has become adjusted: this need for passion, this reckless poet, those reckless eyes, or (thoughts reckless at another person’s webs).