so
thrown into stormy skies so thrust, abandoned, and relocated; so hated by men
at such colonization, where a person hates but he adores; those different percussions
those welcoming tender eyes or something that science can’t guarantee; our degrees
as concrete our music as infallible but dear life to shamefulness; reading
various poets allergic to our contempt while its both to delight and instruct;
this thin cyan line those burgundy wines this film bleeding this psych’s guts
those ruined castles those blatant disregards while one grows accustomed to
seeing and sensing tears; this heavy ass unedited reality this freaked-out cut
where a person needs a bit of what God is on.
it
was hellish to read her work while she spoke my intestines; this blood-black
war this Asian symphony or this modern day gorilla; too infused to speak
sitting and rattling while cages are wide open and no one is running; this
feudal pace this re-indebtedness while a man can’t lose sight of those faces;
at temper caution but angry as hell and speaking too sweetly to convince an
interior eye; but Love was at me she spoke my security where Love asked—Is the
feature here?
this
pain we feel where we evade our cries while so professional it F’s
insanity.
those
tired leggy webs those deep yellow skies at pale and diamond and bins for
recycling; this reprinted famine those impoverished adolescent eyes at poverty
and gunning to get away; this glass and atoms this molecular ink while in stillness
rotating unto blackouts—those devilish wires those devilish thighs while most
have crime to reinvent; if but this crazed possession those damning souls so
close in brains our bowels beg, sinning!
I
met irritation this something I wrote while this line is so unclear.
such
brooding feelings as something so sewn-into-cadence to die an examination to
relive frustration while dissonance is too cognitive. this doctor those vacuums
at something tender and projected; those wall-gremlins those gothic-charts or
this milieu-leprechaun disputing those ceiling omens; those mahogany desks or
that disrespectful-fornicating chair where everyone looks above presentable;
that adulterous carpet those sincere seconds while a person might walk away
feeling unadorned; such realism gravy such determined caps while curriculum
becomes this old familiar texture. it appears simplistic, it screams danger,
while a fool uttered—This is a safe environment; ah! so delicate a tale
and I must edit but alas! thoughts are scraped and indelicate a feeling while one
might delve deeper—so revelation is danger while souls articulate if but to
recapture that runaway soul!
so
accused as unfeeling so thrown into soiled lakes but purgatory has flickered at
authors; this breed of burning banners, this ax at air-fumes or this campfire
afforded this vex where seeing light has become a challenge; those foggy
frames, this dead disaster, or this feral frantic phantasm; so perfect it
stinks so calm its odorous or so much blue rain the dirt is acidic; at a pure
moment so needing to collapse but destined and keeping deliberately as business
to our doctors.
