Serum Truths

I die looking at life, this miracle gem, this sunrise epiphany: to presage, Precious, to realize disaster, this mark in gravel stating forever: while cement melts, it returns to solids, where irremovable passion sings about deaths: this silent guitar, seated in Gucci, or blood bruises sought after confliction—this man disappearing, this slimy language, as grown men laugh while embarrassed deeply: to flourish in traumas, at dusty lies, while Love flowers and looking incredible: at tears those songs, to remember burning excitement, while God knew our destiny: those beige foundations, this Maybelline catastrophe, or bowels gunning for terrific!    

I totter indecision, feeling a tragic defunct, while reading through encyclopedias: this daily chase, to become wise, where chatter discourages this pace: as candid lairs, so impressed by soul, to die so long it begins to feel passion: that sallow rose, our bleeding intestines, our milky white fluids: at tomes befuddled, at tombs blurry, to exit running into desert lands: at prayer with strangers, as rarely with mother, but deep emphases upon this Ghost: to hone particulars, to hone excitable(s), while presently churning large sounds: our guts listening, our thrills penetrated, while most giggle for unbeknownst reasons: those big planes, those extended wings, to land while admiring human technology: at deep psychoses, reading spirit-physiognomies, while our psychs come to focus: at blood blue ripples, or infused for living, where tomorrow we drag our beds: our flaming cauldrons, our minute potions, while spent so high it comes to life!

…it was good to meet, it was good to close doors, while it was better to open widely: to bilk ourselves, to exhaust an entrance, while remembering those intimate seconds: as coming easily, this thrill with many, where ours bore a child: (but ponder shelves, this tremendous lie, where God ensured disaster): or more to science, to feed with negatives, while positives felt secluded: those itchy necks, our nerves at battles, our dreams in fury: this Precious Moon, this flooded heart, to run so long it feels perfect: indeed, but a second to flee, but a second to recluse, or but a second to seduce: our whiny friends, seeking something worthy, where real life burns: those velvet carpets, those velvet islands, this velvet disposition: while men are doubting, as questions are hurled, where souls are hurling our brains: our beating chests, our naïve fathers, our mothers where certain seconds seem unbearable: this insufferable need, those potent feelings, while expecting abandonment: this daughter’s legacy, those mental troves, as deeply discolored: at saddened miracles, to flip into existence, after years of misguidance: our pillars rumbling, our guts laughing, our eyes looking like three days of unrest: to passion with venom, our stepfathers needing clarity, if but to sing, if but to dream, where drinks felt good….

…get it early, Love—despite anguish, despite ostracisms: those spirit-undulations, this inner yoke, this garth about our psyches: indeed, this old treasury, this old languish, this icy-warm existence: our mystique essence, this mystique swan, or circuits to sprint-through and disappear: those soulprints, our neighboring paws, or sounds so precise to Eternity: if but to whisper, those clear images, while gutted for ruined upon reception: (to adore a flower, as flowers perish, upon a scream about resurrection): this fair distress, this beautiful pain, where it felt good to feel passion: our Guardian Angels, our bioluminescent nights, where spirit is rapid and ranting and running through hemispheres: those thunderstorms, this feral creation, to land so far-away from healing: those fruitless fears, as everso real, while mandolins spring into memories….