by Suzán Jiván, Mom
& Mom-Mom Suzán
A self-help harangue
like gossamer orchestrations
by heavy weights
as comfortably winsome
originals
in baby-blue hues
clear, but burly
while skewering
underlying volatility
with barbed insecurities
going begging
for a backstory
half erased
turned off
by change
as the morose
dark echoes
of a baritone
of moon, June
and spoon
trickily metered as inky
smeared versatility
lacking grandiosity
while thwarting shoestrings
like sinewy gigs
configured by gravity
and memory
slithering as cymbal
rhythms with intermittent
hums and whistles
of rubbed moist lips
like pilot lights
never getting ignited
with the wispy wicks
in the middle of ignorance
sticking in the mind
while going halfsies
after burglaries
of gas leaks suspiciously
requiring lesser lights
being lot differently
as silhouetted figures
of flawless images
high-minded and vaguely
unsatisfying while lying in wait
after going separate ways
infuriated by lust abd gluttony
deemed too revealing
pleading, " Not Guilty! "
in a closing-night screening
ruling out making peace
and requiring self-sufficiency
while crawling along
far from normalcy
with the vast majority
embracing fecundity
and living dimy
with dark possibilities
as waxy figures
deliberately flick zippos...
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