I
awoke early, this tale triumph, this internal musicality: this dream, this
woman, to harbor a certain unreality: those nectar roots, this rebooted maniac,
or courage so bold we miss it: at lakes and dirt, at soil and sediments, at
mica and stars—to invest in something, this ritual for adults, while near so
close to crazy: at darkness, or too much light, where something trickles: this
fabulous feeling, this reason to become,
while terror strikes human souls: our days yawning, our nights revved, our
transmissions shifting gears: those deep romances, our bodies shivering, to
imagine pure satiation: this love for passion, this angst inverted, our cures
so short with time: if but those roses, to speak unuttered, while tacit
loudness converts insanity: such collar feng shui, such slumber with eagerness,
where feathers speak to flights: those times watching, as if infatuated, to
peek and see sameness: this acting empire, this moment so inflated, those
hunches unresolved: or psychs to balance, as living upon edges, to fly so
gravely God is waiting: a sudden tear-corpse, a sudden tear-sky, at tears and
laughing with power: those subtle numb-scars, this wombic mentality, at graves
reciting ballads: to read to soil, to drop a prayer to concrete, or better, to
remodel an old kite: such shapeless grays, such droplets by abyss, or so
grafted Love aches from afar. I
allude to living—such internal rhythm, but thoughts fail to resound clearly: at
much activity, those stigmata eyes, those schematic cries, or those stanza
palms: at tone for years, to happen upon clarity, where a secret nudge
generated a monster’s ballad: too agile, too slow, too much of those things: to
want this romance, as something never touched, while familiarity kills
perfection: to disagree, to have those seconds, to hold and love and die
together: so hebetated, so filled, or dull and playing our stages: to need
exhilaration, to appease deep angst, while so sexual men are casting bottles:
this drunk maniac, this normal when high, those tears to challenges: to sense
remarkable, to need a fatal blast, if but to create something gleeful: at
foolish alleys, roaming peaceful ghettoes, something so quick to baffle: as
July approaches, to purchase a Poet’s
Guide, while fame fails to strike a terrifying nerve. I’ll make a plea; about four minutes, to
decide upon four more: this cycle ruining, this method increased, for we perish
for something quick: our small investments, those years with three partners,
this gut enlove with few: those heart-caches, those strong tenets, this class
in reality: to become this force, to ache such knowledge, while Love was
intrigued with silence: this thing we do, to invest in fantasies, where one
doesn’t meet our lines: this crypt and curse, those burial chambers, while
flesh has scrubbed against flesh: if but to live, if but to enjoy life, while
something has become so quantified: our deep roots, needing our coasters, and
requiring something chaotic: to scream by temper, to ache by loss, while
something just returned: those few friends, for just in case, while presently
scratching a dry scalp. …such
crippling love, or this deep feeling, by chance to become another person: as
occupied with character, as absorbed with Love, while debating scripture: our
samurai hearts, hacking through cotton, but so ecstatic to feel loved: those
controlling elements, as causing security, where one is silent: our tempers
with love, our deep insecurities, to require unending devotion: to admire
bodies, to encourage exercise, while we pine gently: this vest with claws, our
swirling eyes, our joys so content we fantasize: those ruthless few, this
ruthless chain, while seated in pure jealousies: to hate a piece of self, to
nibble forbidden islands, while so content it feels normal: this charm
tinkering, this self-abandonment, while Love senses a deep rift: our army
elements, to love something loved, to need something envied: at chaos or
normality, at nature or nurture, where one secret can’t demolish: if but to
passion, if but to anguish, where each session becomes this dying clairvoyance:
at swami minds, so entrenched our bodies glow, so enhanced our friends are
gawking….
