…such
cold islands, pacing through graphics, replaced but sameness, at cures and
agonies: this wild friction, this devastated cosmos, so enlove, so cultured,
feeling ghosts: ashamed of mirrors, reversed but hiding, so flung, so free, so
unchained: those red horizons, those dream monsters, to find ignorance an
aphrodisiac: our plaintiff arcs, our plaintiff flowers, our plaintiff grins: so
infatuated, so loved, so unable to embrace love: so ruined, so gutted, so
appropriate with rain: so gifted, to see dysfunction, to decode this sky-gloom:
Amen, Father—this internal miracle,
this absent chief, or this found artifact: those dreary, damp caves, this
blackdamp existence, our black, darkened lungs: at hungry work, at daughter
days, at mothers pleading reflection: so aloof to it, at tears and frustration,
but so waterless: this whet sin, those eager alleys, trekking through mire and
debris: a glass of gravel, a plate of cement, our gourmet with something
dazzling: so unfamiliar, but, instead, so shy, as pulled, yanked, and
delivered: unfeeling crowds, those mental anthems, where Love was great a
season at dying: to sense something personal, an interior gem, something
radiating through conscious souls: to want like murder, to need like Jesus,
while denied like Moses: such trenchant yearning, such desperate arts, so
confused, so withdrawn, and damaged clinically: so many questions, re-pictured
in frames, so portrait, so perfect for deaths, too abused to win….
We
gnaw insistence—leering at agonies, so cherry, so loquat: burning a fever,
thoughts racing, clear to spend too much: while Love is hidden, and Love is
groaning, to turn a corner and find Love: at gray fire, at blue flickers, where
a bit of music seemed appealing: prosaic pain, prosaic museums, while anguish
carried us: agouti instincts, leopard spots, while core principles dispute
change: at brown creatures, computing attraction, while cleaving to safeness:
to know for passion, to agonize for existence, or to love two seconds from
screaming: our broken skies, our ladies battling, a shadow, a shoji, and
complete silence—at rigid, jagged shards, or reread, jury symbols, so revved,
so jotted, so separated—as crazed for Love, as hating Love, while afraid to
re-birth Love: those helium stars, this helium brain, at a helium psych: so
cautious with it, so premeditated, so right
with responses: those captive eyes, locked in guts, to persuade an inner
binocular: craving science, reported in science, a bit retrieved by science. …rooms by mosquitoes, or caiman genes,
glaring, so readily into phenotypes: intrigued by petite, rethought in
textures, a bit thrilled by voluptuous: this rich capacity, our eyes needing
eternity, while small arms seem so fascinating: our muscular passion, our
pentacle noise, to gaze upon a fair creature: so locked in eyes, so bold and
crazy, or pure piranhas dedicated to devastating: those rare seconds, those
distinctive but different women, or axioms proving haywire: so cursed to exist,
so cursed to perish, while in-between waltzing with Lazarus: at Abram’s bosom,
this dear soul, but life needs more to dance: conversing mirages, at auras,
tears, and fire—feeling with guts, abused by perceptions, looking at Love those
revealing garments: such bodily appeal, such a Picasso face, or better,
Michelangelo’s Muse: but a silent cedarchest, this box of desires, where too
much is certain to have effects….
