I look
at it I need it I must to survive—a dead heart a broken castle aborted to
ruins; but Love is lively and Love gives life where absence frightens his guts;
to zip this mountain such concrete existence so many laws ruling our planet; at
terrible release so accustomed to dying while it was heaven to fantasize; those
broken caves this slave to passions a sip a knee a morning mistake; but Love
was laughing and Love knew game and Love was abased in painful jewels; such
cameo and diamonds such liquor and mistakes as mature adults walking our ways.
So
close we are this scar and battle so rattled and addled abused grown winners—as
cut by reality and seducing fantasy so close to ungluing his majesty.
Sensed
as losing but heavily at gold while retrospection makes a man sad; so accused
in you as adoring those few months while you play this violin; not a week by fidelity
not a second with me while claiming a child with me; it’s pure insanity it has
such meaning while a woman torments herself.
It always
happens this deeper converse and a face appears. I replace it and move west
peering into legacies; this delightful woman this earth as divested if but to
have with life this measure; those hips so deliberate those calves laughing or
those higher elements if not to sound like a heathen; at parks looking at
canines or at an old attraction reminiscing and giggling a pint into those futures;
a lot to remake a demon to undress where our best moments reveal spirits; but
granny knew daughter and daughter knew existence while both shed hell—those days
at a desk those marvelous professors while to reach for half of such wisdom;
seven papers an hour, or lost in something growing, while informed and
activated like psychiatrists; as if I could win, this battle in ecstasy, where
one was so afar it grew closer; our minds running, this edge flowing, at
something a songbird laughing; this maniac softy this uncured agony so fevered
so gutted where Love knew it was pleasure.
An unexpected
child, a wild wager with forgiveness, or something in flesh and it refuses its
pardon; those scandalous screams, so perfect with many, while angels grimaced
and dirt was coffee; to imagine a brilliant psyche, so much courage to ignite,
while so near it feels like touching; those scavenging years searching caves to
extract one determined woman; to need for you if but to attempt at something
where death is prettier than betrayal; such dreams for something living, such
reciprocation for fire, at essence and broken needing redemption; so saved it’s
dubious so indoctrinated it’s pathetic while dogma gave him manageability—but Love
looked and Love felt while Love allowed his whispers; so blasted those seconds,
so cursed, lost and crazy, into an element too pure to outwit attraction.
I’ve
died here attempting deepness so far and filled with a cursed spirit; to look
and cry to live and refuse pardons while it felt good to feel beyond thoughts;
at you but ruined and asking for reconsideration—these florescent demons this
poetess too afar while a man is dreams and illusions; so thrown into dungeons
doing months in a hole and eating dung for a pit-bull; so curious about value
this arête this good life—to run from self to ignore self while fretted and
fumed by some strange hunter; this facial woman this real passion while blasted
and intoxicated—Love laughs and Love is rank while a real man must admit a
woman’s powers.
