…to
see us dying, to smile gently, to feed as if felt in guts: this remarkable
swan, this remarkable future, those remarkable flowers: as if alive, feuding
air-cranes, to invest in an empire: this country of lies, this dungeon of
feelings, to leave a man in that estate: our broken stomachs, our heaving
hearts, at weather weaving those wheezing lungs: if by this one, to redeem this
man, while so many would die: at thoughts laughing, while needing guidance, to
envelope in something courageous: those wings flapping, this hummingbird
watching, our chameleon appetites: as young and gifted, writing up a frenzy, to
share with others: this challenging enterprise, for most aren’t alert, and most
can’t feel true anticipation: to fight jealousies, to argue envies, while
disenchanted that others are flying: such dredging remorse, sensed in dangers,
where a young swan was destined to perish: if but to evolve, if but to breathe,
if but to lead a nation: such cargo, this ship too heavy, as Jonah tossed into
seas: those remarkable eyes, this horizon as swanic, this vest as redemption:
our grannies giggling, our mothers with anguish, while one was sworn to silence:
to manage hells, to release hatred, if but done in purity silence: this boxy
emotion, this pigtailed rose, those outlandish cries: at wig-trunks, at
tailspins, or revving up Venice Beach: to pause at castles, to believe in jungles,
while reversed in time spelling infinity….
I stutter at graves; I swim in midwaves; as one lost and needing a cool
friend: this woman present, but days are lethal, plus, it’s too caged to give:
our deep fences, this jousting match, while one has become accustomed to
hopelessness: as destroyed and rebuilding, or cultured but lonely, which might
suggest a problem: at data research, at romantic inclinations, where one is too
deprived to receive passion: thereto, this deep suggestion, as floating through
grime, our souls receive our childhoods: while feeling awkward, or streaming
sights, to pause at particular gates: our feral obedience, while branches are
leaking, if but to swallow sap and ingest deception: this easy excuse, this
easy transmission, where it was never so easy: to disappear, for years those
times, which induced a particular impassivity—our aches bleeding, our minds
confused, to look over at darkness smiling: such conditioning, such redwood speaking,
our blizzards becoming our comforts: as irregular science, at pardons and
sacrifice, while life appears as something challenging: this diatribe, this
mental muscle, this revving in order to compose—those lakes screaming, this
algae watching, this frog leaping—at palms and silence, at violence and
suppression, at guts and diarrhea: our counseled nerves, our breathing
techniques, our psychs and therapists and dangers: if but to dream, to sense a
perfect ambition, while Love watches afraid to reach cauldrons. I speed at climbs; I atom existence; I
lounge and harbor: at terrible feelings, this charged prose, while feeling
overwhelmed: otherwise, a bit nervous, probed by paranoia, if but to refocus at
every step: this daily event, those irrational thoughts, where psychs are aware
and probing less: this woodshed mentality, this tank of asphalt, this man
recruiting concrete: this weekly chase, as gilded to reality, while listening
to nothing aside from facts: this growing problem, this maniac advisor, at
something too crucial for abstracts: but, nonetheless, this vehicle for religiosity,
this moving clairvoyance: at paradox and contradiction, or pure oxymoron, while
so threaded in Yahweh: this Immoveable Force, this Moveable Mountain, or this
deep caress—to die for Love, this passion in life, at something tearing his
guts: to venture darkness, this old warlock, at theology with trenchant
concerns: this metal brain, this cushion brain, while needing to sense
something immoveable: this dear friend, this remarkable-magnificent, or one
chasing this Mystic Principle: our harvested grapes, our ice-box warmth, at
rich Christology: this epistle in Fahrenheit, this flame in our resonance, or
slammed into this Ghost: those differentials, that old spark, to address life
as one tremendous allegory!
