where have days left us? lethal days?
electric to die days? churning in seas, desperate whales, one death, one
harpoon. a cloud depicted in sound, so religious the way we adore. immortal
prose, found in-between metaphors, so descriptive, so eloquent … reduced to
caricature. aside jasmine tulips, sits a cheetah, afore an empire. at top
speed, reaching 100 meters, climbing a sky ladder.
the ultimate plea, supernatural
glowing, as if a soul was waiting.
a small request to know in time the
whereabouts of my soul.
volcanoes and rafts. stagnant change.
fields and dreams and diets.
deeper frets, the catastrophe
absence, unaware of what one is partaking of: the earth was manicured.
dry problems. responses aren’t
important. mirrors surround the essence. arts and spigots and drains. emotions,
thereto, those eyes, as whet with the hidden lusts.
the shadow appears, dark, lonely,
afraid, eager to love, and then betrayed.
accumulating debts. I reminisce, if only too naïve, sensing a soul
made indestructible.
pursuing life, as going by dreams,
to have read too closely. the fool in me the scream in us, so delicate—the need
for ravishing.
many rivers, southern pains, along
the salmon trail. nothing matters anymore.
some identity. some tendency.
looking at an animal in self. trying to destroy the monster—she adores the
monster—I have come to need her monster.
ropes and trees and nurturing back
to health—the planet, as axed asunder, the revenge, it became the excuse.
insidious shame, blackened ink, our
greenish hopes, orange-saffron sun.
the illogical assertion—is to claim
love—afore meeting the person, or is it?
where love would tillage itself,
running into itself, rushing waters, wilder shores, a palm of sand.
neuronic threshing. intimate
disliking. nothing exists outside of activities, or does it?
the long exit, the waiting ingress,
so amazed to have made it in: the major milestones.
