…we exude insecurities, while chasing
concrete, to feel banished to abstracts: this tux love, this lux emotion, or flux
dynamite—to cure an infant, by palms of radiation, where faith increases by
demonstration: this mutt laughing, this mulatto chancing, while arts become
immortal: this lifeline, at paper with ink, or typing for lost—this promiscuous
villain, this perfect in case we saw, where arms reach bleeding sentiments:
those few we heard, this bird chirping, this moon winking—at times for crazy,
at divas a bit bold, where immediacy controls hormones: our impatient hiatus,
or patient calibers, while excited to trek our armor: those nose bleeds, this
wretched excuse, while Love just popped a pill: indeed, we strut, this cuffed
solitary, and chance this loss while aching—this mental bone, this fleeing
fabulous, at honor attempting at loyalty: this forest drifting, this woman
deleted, while to lose longing for fire….
I made perfection, this remised admission,
our living room this brain new futon—or floor modeled televisions, and this
Gateway computer: to know his name, a pistol to waste, a friend at
laughter—those travesties, our Greek Theater, or love by Latin Laws: (a tear to
messed up, a year to rehabilitate, or months at rehab: this inner curse, as
needed existence, to find solace sipping and puffing cigars: this mental
relapse, this cold mother, this future Father—to peer at Jesus, while knuckling
up, to ask about this insidious design: as struck with pain, to suffer halos,
where something appeals to guts: this brilliant mountain, this awesome tent
suggestion, or miracles our cloves with resistance: this typo Faith, or
ambiguous scriptures, where true brains read by ages): those legs morphing, our
bodies playing diamonds, at deep appreciation for sophistication: as bent that
page, to iron those caves, while tortured by old behaviors: negative
enforcements, to apply pressure, while demanding respect: this coming test, to
ask his mother, in graves this vicarious creature: as built for courage, to
play by rules, this anti-interior—this breathing catastrophe: at breadcrumbs,
asearch for Xanadu, or purchased by sin!
…this windy sensorium, this gin-filled
model, those years to chasing crumbs: this inner bandit, this social priest, or
mannish but calm with resentments: this interior life, as realer than thoughts,
effected by insistence: this real collage, this captain loser, this black
zucchini—as feeling intense, while monitoring feelings, to approach life as one
cuffed: this endless converse, or language that speaks attitudes, where one
feels justified: to know he died, to have his guts, to face such feelings from
childhood—and more to friction, flaming by insanities, where mother approached
as a Jewish woman: to ache Europe, to roam Africa, to perish running through Cush:
this funny land, this Tequila with pain, or lies told for clearance: as
afflicted gems, this nymph addict, or ceilings bled unto redemption: at wings
pruning, at women ignoring life, or this maniac internal mission: to cut with
pencils, this interior legend, while Love has soared ignoring Jesus: at burning
realities, or churning concerns, where sages argue familiar essence—and
chain-smoking islands, at dishes with soap, at humans with hope.
…adored by women, our jaded adult-life, or
this psych seeing too much distraction: our banks in libraries, our guts in
brains, and dear with something called, God:
this furious creature, this delirious audience, or pups dancing in visions:
this trinket for energies, this ticket for purpose, a bit cut by our reality:
this mean soul, those mean eyeballs, this terrible game: for Love sees
responses, where Naïve sees divisions, while both harbor personal emotions:
this liquid bridge, this trek upon water, while squid laugh pursuing innocence:
that soft scent, as soap about cores, where such became this ache in living graves:
that subtle breakfast, those imposing mistakes, or this life-tale where it
never chirps…!
