I
lose time, rewound and struggling, at thoughts those slithers: this milky
woman, this milky plight, seated awaiting a thump: at concentration, this
midway communication, this gut phone: as aloof and stung, this new life, while
pulled by terrific souls: at conservative pain, fleeing into battle, alive a
second this forty five day communion: this lying gravity, this gymnasium, at
pure souls: terrified and gunning, shooting into traffic, at daughters so distant
it feels normal: our inverted therapy, our satanic sips, while aflame such to
fire this baptism: at psychotherapy, perfumed upon self, or this mystic
remembrance: our childhoods dying, this misery to pass, this currency his
measure: this same man, those chiseled habits, while thoughts surprised this
laughing fool: at tendencies, Love, at mystics confused, while listening to
oceans: those feuds giggling, this manic wisdom, at particular attractions: to
be with goodness, this family of thieves, sipping a country of old grapes: to
adore this passion, as to long for interaction, while refused for distant and
laughing with inheritance: those broken wings, this leaky curse, to see your
face—as exploding literature, or cordial a heart-curse, where passion took to
flying: this midget maniac, this reserved fool, where our audience seeps into
oblivion: the best of us, that perfect aura, those perfected pillars—as
language dies, our behaviors our acts, at terrible attraction. I die often, listening to reason, as so
old but cavalier: a true friend, this bold creature, as dying while living:
this black moon, this black soul, this black casualty: at fuels forever,
looking for ruined, if but those ultimate sessions: at perils with disgust, at
sunshine misery, while mystics float, flit and fly—our graves disgusted, this
woman to business, while happily a man at nonsense: to remember a soul, to cut
a bone, while Love would forgive for that feeling: at gristle, marrow and guts:
at tears, mourning and deep infatuation: to adore those brains, to remorse our
conversations, where adored culture seeped into regrets: those wings
languishing, this sipping turning crazily, this manic so enthralled, but
peeking around intestines: our graves bidding, our auctions revolting, our bodies
refusing to filch another brain’s insanity: those remarkable women, too
delicate for rules, too dangerous, too dead, too with lights: if but our minds,
at middle ages, to display something worth keeping: this torn digestion, our
older bodies, our older conscience: as blank a maniac, this colorful maniac, at
Love like monsters boarding a cave: but Love needs me, and Love left me, and
Love has adored over a million millennia: this curse in webs, this couch in
beds, as fed a delectable ingredient: those sewn tendencies, those delicate
memories, this slice into poetry and deaths: our deep peers, this year for
parents, to ask permission to adore something sickly: at senses thieving, our
temples bleeding, our Europe, our Africa: as blended so deeply, at a hurry to
invade, at tears to silence, while Love sits waiting for passion: this full
participation, this delicate white miracle, while one is too short to reach
Germany: this figured woman, to suggest attraction, but a child was mentioned
and hell broke courses. I never look;
I rarely see; I’m caught in a deep beginning: this force protecting home, this
man to dregs, this ghetto forwarded into chaos: at therapy internal, but a few
words, but a few intentions: as fleeing from sanity, or cursed to live, while
mystic love seeps into territories: at deep substitutions, while Love might
prove inadequate, where two would admire this challenge: our guts in faith, our
faith in self, our overtures proving delightful: as found souls, sick with
psychoses, or normal a second founded in reigns: those brains pushing,
penetrating atmosphere, seeping into what I like.
