…good
for irritable, this heist life, so suffocated, so restored: penchant woes,
cloves burning, wine speaking gates: segue madness, fluent a mistake, so dead,
so disappointed: to need by life, this category of screams, at wagons talking
blasphemes: such fatigue, angels whining, mother a bit batty: impulse city,
alert and tragic, fueled to demolish pain: primitive feelings, so close its
suspicious, a year to pass out: a bit hung, looking at promise: some dream I
invented: left with nothing, holding to phantasms, spun for cringing: to ask by
permission, granted this legacy, while torn, destroyed, and so attached it
cries: a true beast, laughing at tyranny, acclaimed for scars: so fueled in
you, so exhausted in you, as hearing aids exploded in you: so pernicious, so
luxurious, while life is one big tournament….
…out
of reach, out of breath, bleaching intestines: a fresh rose, a bold bug, while
misery was unplugged: ravel more hate, unravel more love, so shoved, so
destitute, while happy as hell: those fuses, this cruel bliss, while body
argues with brains: too sick for love, too deceased for passion, while
mimicking sheer disgusts: floored to signs, such archaic existence, so blessed
if but to receive: chaos wranglers, full forced frantic(s), alert but troubled:
running fields, looking to granny, while such was deceased: those years
laughing, this gut unsettled, such vomit this capital step: organizing
patience, at a last thread, but Love is sick with life: encouraged to perish,
encouraged to survive, while life just runs its limits….
I
slump a gut
I
ruin magic
…so
torn inside, so low these wrecks, where we need more rain: a master recluse, a
star barely dangling, or a fool raiding our condiments: to need you, if but our
favor, while too dedicated to prose: our child laughing, our highs low, where
midmorning a moon struck: this crib-wagon, this phoenix God, at Mary and asking
retention: such sculptors, so radicalized, while writing shifts as if urns….
Our
moods ruthless, to touch, sing deaths, and flee mountains: this running chase,
this leaping hurdle, to ask concerning our inheritance: tested and thrown, sacred
but lost, an hour, an exit, a man at home: feeling rebuked, feeling cascades,
while water seems disapproving: our brushed teeth, our porcelain castles, while
Love made dinner: looking at deaths, this fragile claim, where we assert God is
deceased: so deranged, so insistent, as if something makes sense: impassioned
again, fleeing miracles, excluding everything dealing with hope: this human
category, this refilmed beginning, so destroyed, so at ends for fevers, where
prayer seemed appropriate: too low to die, so good a haven, while dreary where
mother arose.
I
thought wrongly, aborted after existence, an embryo writing his future:
omitting chains, absurd reality, fretting for ruined and gunning: ivory tables,
as never his claim, while Love snowed with fury: alive last week, so gutted
this wreck, at something it was to live: houses empty, but Love struck, a
thump, a castle, this irrelevant killing: in-for-out, such a rollercoaster, but
damn this ride—as flown into Michigan, peering into lakes, reminiscent of a
mystic professional: this interior us, watching every integral, so behaved, so
decent, while this world is a mistake: at darts with beers, at futuristic
faith, so close to something atheist: oh for consequences, so enlove with
consequences, at someone so afar, and so in darkness, while I sit, recollect,
and build fantasies.
