Poem- "Vivid Attention"

Here's an article about a monkey's focus.

http://lsr-web.net/Assets/NEIPages/BobWurtz/pdfs/WurtzGoldberg72.pdf



Now then, on to my poem!

"Vivid Attention"

Twilight souls of imperial love in personal rest became
the pulse of a reversal against loud records with their
mellow ring of our galaxy, these avian cardinals, forest
dawn of its primary month within magnetism of reed;
it was a line up on dialogue for coffee to its mode
like melba, duty foil over, to remember British death
at one vampish temple with sovereign feelings a
god to a god through decorations of cavemen, because
of fresh data beyond comedic dimensions. I'd find
cures to a girl in my neighborhood's activities
in evolution with throwbacks, yet an ironman from
my state's capitol probably knew cops who were
pretty salty by human condition. There were
combat songs along the lines of transcriptions of
music or the histoire of 60's culture at slow
variations of baseball. Django! Mom knew partners
in crime of rhapsody as we headed to a museum
of ritz in the city of angels, but, my painting revealed
marble eclipses in relation to Saturn's interference,
my brows on those white colors over back roads
to freedom. We would've known the yak of old age
due to reviving good feelings eternally balanced,
such as dad's muddy source so hardwired of clichés
during top hits on radio; we'd boogie to mysterious
chance in morning time while urban cowboy hats
added starlight of thunder near passion fruit, coming
on as wimps of eternal balance transforming my little
brother's firestarter of silver bells which colored me
wilderness in global warmth. Still, static rap to us
revealed truth to room service with teenage beats
on complete missions between dub and a children's
book of redbone hurting a lovely lady's jackpot south
of the boarder, on parish of rest in mellow retirement
for my guardians who involved camaraderie of
numbness. We had nesting dolls in a Maddox from
communist stores so we were to know bird weather
which started fords to ancient memory (dirty gloves
on energy as light commanders). Of course, expen-
sive satin had to do with a racist in London driving
up a saloon with Monopoly images thus pictures to
handle correction reeled in exceptional magic for me
to imagine a strop; my family would plaw the slow eggs.
I was under the influence of taste for those sandwich
islands of medicinal monkeypod mimosa and owned
this shadow gone against my tongue. Ancients knew
about the creativity of papyrus for general liberty of
armies, autumn to a beginning saint of Christ in Italy
from wish around famous beach; so much commercial
freedom my hike for goulash within European contrast
as arco fireworks allowed my tale:

I was allowed to start my tale at a pitch for miles, call
on job to clap your aid at the speed of virtue. It was
destruction to attention over attitude difficulty, on ano-
ther page from help with sympathetic aura. I was kno-
wing an illegal ghost to haunted houses as she found
seats and cushion to the tier through independent
suddenness on mom's easy rose. There was déjà vu
about her husband's expression of her delivery, similar
to moonbows by a liquor store between dreams and
jubilee on marseilles to broken cotton as plenty of fish
lived upon their net, some pitchers into softball to hold
wood since a devil was born from stars like some
wolverine to charge at three phoenixes. I crossed
western tumbleweeds with unopened truth in secure
options to resume play for Popeye at a lion's school-
house on turbo budget with complete tools, to get out
old instructions in my thinking membranes for Pac-Man
so personality and opponent average lived outside
my aspirated illusion, struggling through at a looking
glass on arcade machines to various definitions. The
turmeric lion was frozen from an old apple by a mouse
who ate her baby. I let a choir pop their eye; I was
existing upon stadiums while ABC's was flirted, getting
through to critical substitution thanks to two coaches
about titanic athleticism in major leagues before going
for first class operation on a great dinner at Yolanda's;
I had to get enough years for a puzzle. Frisdrank zetten.
Soda to make was a gift light for perfection in singular
reversal like holy Daniel's passless zing to poetry's
layered progress; I'd learned over the miasma of our
gold rush in commotion up to memory to dodge at new
worlds with colonial sports, a healthy shaw in Egypt
in darkness of answer for trouble-leaders who were
always on a singular reversal to impressive valor. I tucked
a berry well into four baskets in gift hour for rich work
to leave a viral stub of my pencil with pressure on the
web. Something was curious. What? It made beauty
a sore in its prime sojourn though I loved the proud
smoke of trash in our few fireplaces after returning from
trackball arcades of youth, seeing mellow drama on
parts of nice actors near sleepiest poinsettias for a
practical hoop city of romantic hotlines, main influences
of stiff drinks for quite a bit of comfort to share orca
blasts (the turnaround) ringing in public awards from
successful animals. Among palisades when fall ended,
my degree to liberal performances with uproar on
privilege, dad's whistle on nature trails to pizzerias
brought back memory of Louisianan sugar in the chill
of moving heat in mom's discovery of art by a moon
that sunk. I was baby in transliteration to glory with a
Chinese fan while recalling jazz piano in retirement homes
for boy scouts, to discuss French fathers and German
gentlemen about my dad's ancestry to revolve my liberty
so that seven rabbits for Easter appeal with blank stares
of grandma's organ could understand our cosmesis of
Hawaiian shirts- airlocks by the Pacific Ocean, herbs in
froth by drink, Polish families in real estate, mariposas
toward sandbars on Oktoberfest, a low school of boos to
international competition over food, a sample for cancaos
in this divorced home of awkward smell and contemporary
religion, the jungle of city lights to hard stars by reflecting
hills my math teacher's magic of charm complemented to,
little toy guns with missing bubbles, my mother's pain
reducing knee from taco shacks while she followed eight
out of fourteen and her holy blanket on a couch near fans
which had worthed some dollars for the upper reaches of
shadow deer, final desires when time flew upon past ache
at unique heat changing throughout our fissures many
findings as complex enough in mystical sleep when the
fair's funhouse of the jam concealed new richness beyond
mom's robotic artisan, aphonia of depression to a fresh jersey
as directed through more stain on preoccupied strings,
instrumental loneliness (me). The ritual paloma's uttered
sight of interrupted shadows at Sea World in freedom of
talents to withhold regressions of pain at forced opportunity
against exclusive moments would roar fanatic hugs like
dire poems, mission possibilities I was out of judgment of
toward the ones in math. That oriental soapberry in my
rich dark chocolate as professional dish with it resumed
classical overtures for likened choices as I received from
within me ideas of alternative talk from doctors to
puppies, desolation of cleanliness to my appetite in wis-
dom of shopping my family partook through manifestation
of color theory, my body of defense from sparkling thirst to
create our guess with life: a gross concert of parrots at a call
within minutes to leverage for exotic collections, to the
expansion of sweethearts aroused by incredible hunger
when national painting and the brownie alaskas displayed
transportation of love as its contrary to flay of politics; the
disability of grain, a bridge to the side of pretensities, as I
watched a delicious Napoleon in his apetalous story at the
all new Sunday of prayer. Now I'm relaxing across from the
red games of keno to hear casino jazz and celebrate fiestas
with proper songs because of the harmony of musicians,
hummingbirds between meals to apartment gardens-
that's my skin prescription.

If you don't understand me, you hate to be right.


It's not a nice place when it's a pleasure to meet you:
A strange guy's premiere history of the support,
Growth of my taste beyond the upper reaches.

*This poem is like an abstract painting because I tell readers in it what my past was like without being specific as to when. It's a combination of childhood and adulthood.

http://gameuniverso.deviantart.com/art/Vivid-Attention-683462746