Ghettoes make it Hard to See!

I need to believe if but for survival if but to remap this travail and panic; as something subtle at arrival a new feeling while I shouldn’t but I thought sexually; this deep defensiveness this catering hippopotamus alongside this estuary elephant; our bloody linen this massacre on Third Street at medium blue orchids. But life has been gray and Love looked like licorice and pain patted my pyramid; those dark kangaroo beliefs where if I’m not master I can’t associate with you; but Jesus magenta and pregnant beautiful women and light too bright to digest; indeed as flowing forever or too torturing to divest while existence becomes peculiar; that is to suggest, this space in minds where sheer agony becomes us living life; this adversity to calmness this treasure in misery while dying Love seemed defeated but terrific; our casual disappointments this tale about rabbits or those green succulent apples; to remember scripture at incomplete times when soothing comforts are not necessarily what a poet is looking for; our cautious chaos our feral phantoms at something in Christ needing clarity; so steep into darkness a purgatorial reaper at tragic trenches and adoring something angry; our bad behaviors so destroyed by dungeons if but this woman or this refilmed diary; for mother upchucked the ghost and father released his mist where something deceased in running ramped in our brains.

We come from dysfunction and ever so adorable while so kind it might seem offensive. We carry something too engrained for loss and terror while terrified, nonetheless. This rage for someone we’ve felt or this undergoing of radical energies at some beautiful Swedish African; so uncured or so unlatched while rewound in time suffering a panic in there; those days gazing at you or those nights conjuring images while too disappointed to pursue more than what we possess; for winter is so close and Love is so close while something sudden wouldn’t give us time to heal; this leaping mystical those mythical romances while one might be inclined to discount Cleopatra.

We cant find a reason to include unless feeling a particular need while filled with hallucinations; our gardens fraught by false flowering our dreams escaping our landmines and such power in something behaving with shadows; such universal ghettoes and such life in ghettoes while behavior becomes indicative of several mindstates; or a picture I must share of a young lady working and grueling over geometry and listening to Hildegard; this queen out of her space this scream flickering and tiptoeing wires while she must struggle beneath a lit candle; so curious to feel this motion and so detected for including existence where most are pulling to escape anything that reminds about reality; our panic in turquoise our reasoning in cyan and something compelled to take this gamble; this river in souls those diamonds in arteries as helium inflated one losing; this behavior our children while deep into silence or attempting to participate and hated for disappearing but deeply rejected from occupation; but fairness must be analyzed—a woman sick with disgusts—and a grandfather sick with hearing it; or a daughter sullen with mistrusts and a stepfather venturing to exclude new faces, where mother needs to protect her home; those realists’ battles where adulthood means making decisions while a neglected sensory becomes a father’s answer; this ceiling so watchful and this floor so tired where doors soon become metaphorical; at this deeper need in order to subsist as one must practically degrade himself. Our traveling ghettoes our inclusive miracles while one-out-of-the-slums moved into her mind’s horizon—those trenchant beautiful arguments or this space accustomed to ill-behaviors as to meet with something taught to communicate calmly. This inching turtle this turbulent rabbit where the finish line is too far to see.