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paul_viaf's review
5.0
O maestro. The pantheon is full with your bluster. From the lacking of these mundane letters emits the flesh, the curse, the soul, the palpitating tissue, organs spewing blood, from this, the very being is littered with atrophy, with symphony, with the bludgeoning. I will fall apart at the seams with emotion flooding out through the cranium, through the eyes, & corridors of my hearing, flowing with diamonds, & flowers, bullets, broken bottles, & bombs. If ever I was dead now am I living due to the realizations the embrace of a kindred soul! My heart aches that it could not be sewn to yours in some awkward deathly rhythm sending us both to proper fields of our escaping this wretchedness. You ring true as this divine note that is untainted by jealous gods or bland rituals bloodthirsty in their demise. I wish you peace sir. I wish you all the goodness that has & ever will flow! I wish that all beings could share, as we do, the bottomless fountain of love that reimburses those that seek it out. What a monstrosity comes through this humanistic gate we did not ask for, though we aspire to transcend it, to become it wholly, to revive it, to heal it, to resuscitate it. Under the weakness of our flesh shines through with impending mortality. No one can say we did not try. No one can say we did not rip our organs out & hand them to whomever could use them is a positive manner, whether they sought to demonically devour them or use them, share their vitality. You have blessed me, & in turn, I plan to bless all that invite me. We all blessed are blessings. Syntax was a rusted cage which had far exceeded its use & yet you could wield this obsolete tool into its purest value. Toying with the forms of language. Abusing syntax to his own diabolical means. The wizard defying laws & wielding words as insanely wondrous as possible. Melding the unmalleable. Breathing life into inanimate, archaic symbols. What foliage you plant upon the mind & heart! In the wake of living he has tapped into an inalienable knowledge which poets possess by being open to that which dispenses all knowledge. Throughout history poets have struggled to convey how the unknown dawns itself upon their carapace. It is through this inviting demeanor; the welcomeness which personifies the beacon, one can become when choosing to abuse one’s corporeal vessel as a lightning rod for all the potent experiences of existence. It is indeed a violent act but one which the poet refuses to relinquish nor would ever fathom trading. You are a window, a mirror, & a magnet for everything that compiles the polarities of light & dark. Also, you revel in the gray & not only make it tolerable, but in fact, amusing. To be privy of such a glorious journey is an honor bestowed upon this reader. I am indebted to the wielding of such expressions. I am drawn to kiss his very words. A magnificent heart. He magnetizes me & puts many to shame with sheer brilliance. What dishonor I do in enveloping him in praise because I know he was a very humble man. Yet courageous in his language. A kindred spirit, he voices his opinions without remorse because he feels they will do well to heal the world if ever heeded. I feel his pain & suffering in watching humanity devour itself. What rage is built up from such visions. With his purely original social commentary capturing the despair of his generation & of the hard times America faced but has seemed to forget. He possesses an almost boundless imagination. I say almost, not because he showed signs of having limitations, far from it. I say almost because he cannot be a poetic deity, can he? He has to be human & humans have limits. He has me mesmerized to the point that in my dying moments I think I shall have to trade my last breaths for the memory of his words.
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