I
dance twilight, arranged for dying, or at life with intimacies: to chance his
daughter, to impart his guts, or to perish while budding: this fume wafting,
this manic incision, or psychs so subtle it disturbs: at parrots laughing, at
parakeets quite dismissive, or at intelligence quite emphatic: our souls, Love,
our rounds, Love, these ‘things’ meant to edify: those remote mothers, this
mechanic as ‘norms’, or at love feeling inadequate: those sights, traveling
blue deserts, or marveling over Israelites: as men gunning, this pistol for
brains, to assail everything receptive: while grannies are hawking, where pops
is sipping, while true friends die to resurrect: this Jesus Piece, those inner
fragments, to feel existence: this throbbing palm, this steep stigmata, this
secret alertness: while accustomed to cartoons, at centipedes giggling, or
reaching for tugging skies: hither, this mad adventure, this psychology
membrane, or this creature absorbing this inner child—to sense with affection,
this Asian memory, or mathematic existence: to cut grass, to feud dreds, or
this fiasco concerning Maybelline: this makeup fury, those furious lies, as
sentenced to silence. …our
clandestine God, this antique helmet, or those resin souls: as concretive
dreams, so real that explosion, to hear those forty nights: as unfastened
nightmares, this dungeon so steep, and those eyes fishing his guts: to pull
with destiny, to tremble but tamed, while too afraid to dive in: thitherto,
that radiant overflow, that radiant newborn, as falling into features: to
measure spirit-moans, to feel a total stranger, or to realize this mystery—as
needing life, if but with souls, to re-analyze our dormant realities: this
latent scream, this latent fool, or this latent lawyer—at Aphrodite whispering,
at Cleopatra yelling, or at Penelope weaving nearby: this change in approaches,
this dynasty for daughters, or this soul attempting to redeem concrete….
Dear
Perceptible, or Dear Intensity, as one cleaving to Promise: this woman made
Artemis, this tale for stupidity, while Love aches a silent Lover: this Berlin
Wall, this Black Infusion, or tremors cursed to return: this Siena Sia, or days
at lakes, or moments flicking flower-bugs: those treacherous emblems, this
treacherous disaster, while souls cleave sexual passion: as dying for freedom,
to manumit a slave’s thoughts, where societal issues mold individuals: those
hateful folks, those hateful people, or so idyllic Reality seeps into
seclusion: those seconds with ecstasy, this chasing horizon, or this morning
rainbow: while whelmed and laughing, or cursed and laughing, where Love
admonished such laughter: this a.m. sipping, or this need to reveal it, while
something precious has inverted pain: this survival tale, this need to
rationalize, or this belief that Life contains Suffering: that teal soul, those
teal dreams, as becoming an army of teal embarrassments: our heart-rings, this
small troll, or this imaginary/allegorical journey: where gravity is watching,
while Karma is debating, where our fields are fraught by passages: those
pregnant caves, or pure Intuition, while so infused it’s difficult to dream.
…that
tall sky, those heart-effusions, or this drumkit insanity: this subtle
existence, this mad mistress, or songs outlining our histories: this unsaid
love, or this refusal towards irrationality, at thoughts that it must return:
those amoral insistencies, or this moral Bastille, while so ethical we sit
alone: thereinto, this mis-matched agenda, or this need to feel but one, while
peers are laughing for frolicking: this nail file, those eye tweezers, or this
philosophical gut-wrench—where Love is therapist, where Reality appears
clearly, but souls are confounded by expectations: this feudal Tyson, this Blues singing Taylor, while afraid that existence becomes this futile
excursion: this famished heart, this reaping maniac, this screaming insanity:
to need for passion, to die for exhausters, while searching deadly into our God
Selves….
