It’s
turning, to pivot a pendulum—my life. I wanted structure,
to
love this angst, and ever vanish. She kisses with poison,
an
art with Guinness, to harness daylight. I’m garden souls, and
prone
to folly, streaming Gaga. Its lethal, to nourish venom,
to
live the Donovan’s. We perish—nine lives, to love one soul.
Tell
it purple, to polish mirrors, to arouse coffins. I held it, a
beating
heart, to purchase Prada; and Lana sang, emitting
passion,
three souls in. I cry it brown, for colored souls, a
wealth
of
diamonds; and dear for God, the beauty of love, a leather volt.
Bells
are ringing, to sense a vault, ever this life. We
perish—torn
immortal, athirst her soul. Its gothic rites,
and
pudding pie, and blueberry verses. I sought earth, a
bottle
of chi, finally uncaged. It’s more an edge, to
touch
for something, even a novelty. I sew a seam, partly
stressed,
to chisel rain. So more for hedges, in Morse
code,
and
never challenged. Indeed, to carve oak,
an
oath in blood, and bleeding numb.
