…such
crowded eyes, such deflated tomorrows, at tears to adore you: our cave-hearts,
our bucket venial sinister, allergic but convoluted and life is terrific: those
dreams, Mystic, such terrifying mental stages, while a man auditions for
vacancies: those tire dusky trails, this picture a mad delusion, but reality
properties scream at indifferences: our anchored destinies, to have, or
possess, and need a new adventure: those tawdry lies, this essence in pink
rose, as a man never those wombs: at casual panic, gripping pillows, to awaken
and perish an upward flight: awash’d in purple acid, our colors seeming
consequential, our mothers holding to a vague letter: tragic vernal lies,
terrible christic cries, while something precious is in vogue: this heartbeat,
this thunder-gore, our oak traipsed across sands: this upcoming torture, this
downplayed arrival, where Love needs a happy mother: this ruined galaxy, those
blueberry pies, while a psych restricted intimacies: as deathless songbirds, or
gleaming anxieties, unbolted, released, a plague upon our sugarcane: (but a
swan cries, needing perfect parents, while it seems inconsequential: a hardened
creature, where emotion is needed, but disappointment has become myrtle: those fabulous
lies, this free and easy juxtaposed unreality, while everyone is tremendous but
father): but those eyes, Mystic, this sensational sky, as silver inflates our
markets: clumps of red grass, coins found underground, or keys given to strangers:
this misprint, for Love knows existence, but too many lovers: sheet metal vows,
or broken sentiments, for Love needed certain evaluation: this purse of
rockets, this intimate crimson apparatus, or this gymnastic feudal
contemplation….
(such
churning concentration, to accept our groans, to probe our responsibilities):
this sick ass hell, for Love is absolutely this creature, and Love is so
upfront and decent: this cross in minds, this multiple being, this multiple
address: while never at deceit, and always catching hell, too innocent for
existence: (such as murky assertion, while father is so elated, where granny
understands anything): so cultic, Love, phone to gut-machine, where most people
are romantic—this life, this battle, while opened for fantasy: as father
escaped, or mother was distressed, while we do these remarkable things: this
crevice bleeding, this venture crumbling, plus, addict parents: this film,
those regrets, while no one can overcome it: losing for lost, winning but
illusions, or terrible contemplating a new moon: a phone letter, a telegraph binocular,
or a stenographer cell chip: understanding prizes, so disappointed in mirror
math, while Love easily would do a twenty year oblation: piggybacked romances,
angry outcomes, where a man accepts a great deal: but Love is deep eyes, and Love
is deep resentment, and every man has done wrong without provocation: even so,
a man must endure, a man must find triumphs!
…soft
sung slime, contented casual catastrophe, or so violently vicious and claiming
victim: our easy ears, our needs to believe, where reality has no meaning: this
lesson for me, this bible to me, where such death is appropriate: this fault in
me, this fool in me, this loss as appropriate: that person, this identical
person, but Essence was smart: an occasional tryst, a flustered writer, while
angered he went academia: to prefer death, as to prefer nothingness,
or a fool pining evermore: such sickness, so rancorous, our roofs looking quite
friendly: but Love is adorable, and Love uses a private language, and Love has
sung a deep valley: so out of place, so ahead of the times, or such a person
living in France: as devastated or compelled, or some vandal in London, while
US rudiments are so restrictive: (as never a concern, to tell a man, I know
you love me, but I am not that woman): this fair fight, this father’s
luxury, while a dozen are raging over scars….
