I’m
trying to fight it; maybe I should hide it; this internal anguish; as flight
from conscious, this swarm of locusts, this barricade. Oh this gland—throbbing
from presence, to enter our natures; to fly like bees, to soar like eagles, as
calm as apes. I’ve died to live, as living to die, this romantic enchant. I
loved to touch, as touching to live, deprived on both accounts. I couldn’t for
perish, to ponder a swan, to know the flames of fury; as one paranoid, to cloth
all thoughts, to exist as a manikin: the deepest highs; that tender low; to mix
a concoction. We sip like fish, a little at a time, to guzzle unto
elimination—from the here and now, sparked through lights, to kneel in anguish.
I love us breathing, through tears that fall, at sudden the moment. I saw a
collar, and felt regrets, a life strung in misery; but oh the joys, to hold a
baby, as one that has arrived. It’s ever gray; to lose so much, as one destined
for hells. I wrestle deeply—this internal scar, low enough to see; and there
was love, this platonic love, spinning in my honor. We probe a monster, as
alive as friction, to clutch the good. I
need a nightlight, the sky to open, as Jesus descends. It’s true to mystery, to
afflux a heart, to reach a nation. A séance is close—that inner/outward flame,
to engulf believers. It’s ever this heart, to cry with Christ, as faithful as
Gertrude; as pain trickles, to write for freedom, as one enclosed inwardly: ever
that prison, to gain for peace, a moment in a cocoon. The earth is spinning, to
drown a thought, as a flood of insecurities; to see her face, spread on
balloons, as floating through territories; to finally fall, as one to give
up—this taboo dominion. Please this life, as scraped asunder, to walk a
thousand deaths; oh the monster, pushing and pulling, as to scribe insanity;
but this is life, that inner grief, at one with God.
