So
gentle into heartless nights as a creature treated well; so privy to you into
coldness so left where eggs don’t hatch; so ensouled so blank as accruing
terrible habits; too much liquor too many smiles while a man tries harder; this
pinch in the midst of tongues so religious so slain; to ache a womb to die at
orgasm for the heart was filled with cholesterol—such blackness or white
wilderness at Asia feeling an outcast—if but Egypt if but Ethiopia as a queen
would first die—those golden ribbons this turquoise concrete while mixed and
lost and trying so hard; this fantast frenzy this forced complaisance while we
never discussed color or values.
But a phantom opposed to
a symbol and laughing for it hurts so good; to love like cannibals such
pleasurable or cultic cries; a tinge of fire so addicted to flesh while admiring
pale pigmentation—this anti-me this feeling to escape where nothing was worse
than effacement; God’s Thesis as a human joke while cosmos drove us apart; but
never a gentle day and never a faithful week while parents are haunting black
guts; this wild man this fairer man this unfair skin; such opus texture such
lands in Cush while “I only love their women”; a gemstone treasure, so affected
through fears, to touch, groan and cry; weeping horribly, as if Jesus was
crucified, while water tasted like sodium.
So
many spells or cell-like dementias so drastic so incomplete; to adore winter to
feel autumn while climbing oaken havoc; surreal actualities or bars upon
children where mother was adamant hell is better; so sacral and listening while
christic coverings rob blackness; this feud in them this hatred of self this
challenge in Swans; to tremble intently to become riddles and diamonds where it
was never his intention; so aphotic and dreading light where intuition was
having a fit; so boundless so curt into a valley of unborn stepchildren; this
film in mother this lake in father while fire and dust came to destroy; those
blatant refusals this refuge and dirt as a cornerstone explodes; but an upsurge
or lunch with Gabriel our purgatory with Mary—at rites to fuse an effusion of
blues while a mystic cried and gripped mimes refusing to utter sacrifice.
I nightsong or birdsong
at terrible sea-songs; this teal earth those red curses at blue/jade pains;
such days with lies while there was never a pure night into something so
scandalous; a man hates mirrors a man disguises his hate while so torn and Love
is smiling; to convince silence where love is casual if but a tragic affair;
but such a child while it meant nothing—and to see her hug the beloved; something
is missing, the aura isn’t compassion while an addict own humans; such poverty
by heart, so impoverished by morals, and so disgusted with beauty.
