I’m
glued at night, staring into orbit, accustomed to esoteria: this welkin
machine, this lethal addiction, those webs as channeled: those spidery legs,
this crawling tarantula, this baby centipede: in truths, those wellic snakebites,
those terrific poisons, at thighs and arms and something innate—this creature
of sentiments, those moments too enthralled, while Love has become uneasy: our
gremlin appetites, our monstrous ambition, while accused of being indelicate:
our Hozier instincts, our appeal to phantoms, where realized this accent to
dying: at casual converse, peeping dictation, amused by verbal knives: those
sick encyclopedias, our sick abasements, while running and running and
running—this black moon, this bloody sun, as venom rains upon earthen-souls:
those beautiful dreams, so innocent to minds, as needing this perception: our
first encounters, our harlot virgins, our inner net-probes: if but by Church,
or but by Bibles, as mystics infused by grandeur: those mixed letters, this pot
of beef stew, our metaphors for making something sweeter: the best in us, this tragic insanity, this broken, delicate,
mis-fathomed delicacy: at ruins laughing, while seeming normal, where something
is deliberating: those alien aches, this alien soul, while so removed from our
daily tasks: as climbing higher, aware of Sexton, a bit envious of Bugs: this
feral demand, those feral charms, while Love could give two maniacs! I scream and awake, I die and giggle, it
felt good to live—this math at brains, this geometry at spirits, to think too
deeply: this head-war, those vibrant, energized attractions, as using in order to
breathe: our reluctant ties, this tryst in dungeons, while sipping so low we
damage light: our games with salt, this vinegar for wounds, while enthralled in
domination: the best in us, as
kleptomaniacs, or kamikaze lovemaking: our gnawing sensations, our hearts by
guitars, or that radicalized, super vibration: this inner galaxy, those cobra
fangs, those Cambodian calves: to scream at something, while reaching for
damages, at laughter it hurt so good: this fool in me, this drama in me, this
mother in me—to invest as puking, to guzzle as livid, while sincere concerning
this atypical sobriety: this mad scientist, this mental physician, where
secrets have become automated: those tiles bleeding, this ghetto leaking, while
running and running and running some more: our Lancôm appearances, this mad
blue horizon, or that shifty, intricate, remorseful smile: at souls with
clearance, at séance with minds, or at Love with such heart-screams: this
masterful rose, those red green blues, or something so determined it felt good
to perish: at aches and running, at war and running, at Love and gunning: this
feel high plateau, this rising orbit, or that slow southern milky-way: at
dungeon whispers, those lavish brains, while so crooked our lines are straight:
that Twilight Zone, those creased
khakis, as so clean they miss the tragedy—our
arms yanked, our guts speaking, our necks with hives: that black reality, this
white travesty, where souls meet at an instance making tear-love: indeed, this
rich occupation, those few with dire confusion, at chaos and feeling good: our
craving meerkats, gunning for scorpions, but allergic to something whistling:
our algebra, our algorithms, our due-for-dying equations: to watch Love
dressing, to admire configuration, while sunk for doubts: or reaching for
certainty, allotted a ghost, where Love looks ingenious: this nape dripping,
that line between breasts laughing, our eyes for dead coming into life: those
spiffy Clarks, those radicalized hip huggers, or something so off-base it
appears demonic: our souls needing elements, this crucial cry to wolves, while
aware this causes our deaths: to drift with passion, or gutted for demented,
seated somewhere giggling with juice: those geese watching, that feisty duck,
those intimate ants: those lazy moths, our aye-aye satiations, while never to
sleep gently: our Kenya women, our Asian women, our European women—while desperate to succeed, as needing
something pushed away, and dying to rocket afar a death with roses!
