I
can’t change science, I can’t redeem Hosea, and Wisdom frightens inheritance—this shift in mediums, this morning’s
shower, those buds seeming to pay attention: this man with bars, this mind with
compassion, or left for deemed imperfect: this license through souls, where
life is supreme, as long as questions are minimal: but more to scripture, this
symbol in Italy, this casualty in Concrete(s),
this winter in Australia: as one churned forward, this mental Daniel, this
restricted Fire: to have three
passions, as one shared with few, or another too exhausted to move our
reservoir: this difficult climate, this exotic tulip, or such fair cocoons:
that watery butterfly, those marvelous sons, or daughters to mysteries longing
for faces: this envisioned compass, this fatidic outcome, while souls are
rolling cultic dice: our itchy eyes, our loud planks, or such to perfections
that last year was forgotten: (our viable New Year’s; to follow after
discovers; or to pace our temperaments with tempo and bass: our guts heaving,
our brains to militias, our hearts unbeknownst with certain rectitude: this
weaving cinema, this movie at nights, this film rejecting its stage: this soul
by giggles, this whisper as sudden, while many have accessed fifty percent of
their brains: indeed, such madcap carnivals, such madness exploring, where we
sit in silence while our spouses are moving in candid colors: this camera in
eyes, this memory for certainties, or rapid this Samuel while days are
Joshua’s: as torn souls, or metaphor elephants, while thrust by swords feeling
remorse): this curse in lullabies, this crib with memories, this puff as ruining
complexions: those fairer cries, this beauty island, or those lamps that render
injustice.
I
sought Jesus, I insisted in Krishna, I became Mystic: those blue shades, those
brown banisters, those green redeemers: as one with arts, this granny’s voice,
this choice steak: our eager onions, our minced vegetables, or potatoes
smothered in gravy: those smothering vices, that smothering charm, those smoky
mirrors—as lent to self, while owned by mystery, where boldness professes total
freedom: this last incense, this vase of tears, or those smoldering, exotic,
misunderstood canvases—as but so lethal, or but so alarming, to examine
behavior betraying its contour: our glamorous, salacious, tentative women:
those radical, outstanding, glorious brains, while dead a notch or alive
feeling indecent: that man shuttering, his mind gunning, at manic episodes
spelling in gibberish: this saga by insanity, those breaches by intestines,
while Love watches gleaning a sense of self: that deep pit, those sakata
friends, or this hostile ladybug—at memories through camps, at treasures
through adversities, where gramps was absent for violence: that purple dress,
those green berets, or something crucial paving high mentality.
I
read Revelation, I journeyed Dementias, and I lost something that was
borrowed: our brains to thoughts, our physiognomies responding, as physiologies
become moistened: this man afore this giant, this woman at ease subtly, to
enter contradiction: or permit one sanction, this arm in daisies, while unsaid
sap believes in superiorities: that woman smiling, this team demanding, this
sap to realizations: this Seventh Kingdom, this Sprinkling of Fairy Dust, at
seconds too silent for memoirs: as relieved souls, searching for something new,
while our gatekeepers giggle for impressed: this woman too exhausted, as
crashing to reality, while black-blue-beiges arranged her tomb: those remote
feelings, this remote castle, to find that alone time is quite challenging:
this envy in some, this tell-sign in others, where spouses watch absorbing a
tear of travesty: this vineyard in Rome, this gavel by Profanities, or lights adrift seeping into consciousness: those
hard-pressed khakis, this iron to encyclopedias, or that realization that
content is more valued than words: while torn but removed, those days with Innocence, or those nights with Zelda.
