I
was song at dysfunction sipping something stiff aborted to thoughts or hunches;
such little collaboration, such hectic grief, rewound at losing time; such passé
arguments or antiquated realities while a stronger person would laugh. I died
so young I was filmed in furies but sensitivity reigned; to gallop through
doors a countenance to kings a theory about existence; sure dissatisfaction or
determined to reknit where certain pain resides in marrow; mommy was lost or
daddy was fleeing or granny was schizophrenic. Such became art this creativity
this academic tentacle; musing daffodils or reading aphorisms while too hungry
to feed. It’s never enough in this village of miracles while Detroit was
erupting with literature. We come to exist where music is gentle while needing
something for that edge; such unfriendly distrusts such wretched fury while
history has determined our welcoming; maybe an elderly lesbian, cemented in
something warlike, where equality is important but those are unique; or maybe a
historian, this brief account, while deepening classism; or maybe a professor,
those years seeing patterns, where one is assessed prior to his arrival; or one
with a deficit insomuch as a misanthropist while in a humanist field. I do not
laugh at this, I rather laugh at insanity, while I might have a morbid bent;
those skies so polluted or grounds pure soil while berries are growing rapidly;
an egg or pomegranate about that time of morning while running through
characters: but (nothing is so vicious as one trained early where violence has
become normal)! It speaks to troubles it deteriorates in prisons while change
is so rare most do not acknowledge change; for personality must suffer as an
intense overhaul plus realities must shift by goodness; such determined
processes in an aggressively passive world where most are not setting the pace;
as more passing through existence or maybe ungrounded while life has become a
series of frustrating obligations; those higher lights, or those academic sunbeams,
are for those strange people!
I
was unsung early, I mean deprived of dreams, while most were dearly at
religion; those hymns or antiphons or common clichés where reality was left to
fate; this radical hope by little participation or enervated of mechanics; to
sound apologetic or to put forth something defeatist or to fathom doing battle warring
uphill; those aloof creatures so determined to disapprove or worse so
determined to resist; but (it becomes peculiar, in this hectic design, where
whites plus blacks aligned in intimacies); this tradition where flesh is
powerful or empathies are rewarding; our guts at chores our vines moist at
something devastating perception. So much to live or too little to die while
needing things that seem beyond our reach; or too angry to reason with a
frightening disposition while attitude works against souls; but (this tinted
reality, where one must submit, while equality is an undermeasured ideal): for “I
need one to succumb, even at their expense, despite those intense chasms.” This
tender operation, our needs for skies, if but for others to acknowledge
greatness; but our world is detached, unless close friends, where others are
oblivious to our existence; or those tragic concerns, our worlds to thieves,
where too much flattery should become a sign; our temperate discussions while
hoping for pleasure where one might not reciprocate; nevertheless, this needed
essence, in a world light on accolades. It becomes a rich challenge, those
grand perspectives, where few people are vetting our souls. We detach from
others in a combative field where we might give in order to receive: such raw
reality such captive circumstances or better, such monopoly or uneven
requirements.
