—your
smile is hefty, such wrinkled strengths, by maze or clarinet; to come so far,
close to two decades, by wandering wonder; those charms as perfect mistakes
while so close it aches to breathe; social motifs or mastiffs groaning while
intimate with ghosts—those mental creatures or those correct responses where
one needs to get it out; ropes or jumping-jacks, those round squares, such
sweet contradiction—
I often
think by years where essence is fire or flame is boiling; such sugary remorse
such needing a stranger, where we might not mesh.
it took time to
rehash us, it took momentum to unleash us, and it takes courage to reknit
prose; as an angry assonance, or a raging consonance, while normal becomes
dissonance; our advertised selves are most unlikely if but to unveil it might
hurt; those tacit umbrellas those go-to philosophies or a life lacking human
depth; but father is an outcast where life is so rich or plainly put—He has
not suffered enough! This fifty-year sentence, as a gray-haired man, to
arrive upon a grandchild.
—you
may feel indelicate but anger is natural where one is determined by mother;
some things do not account, for stained pillows, or puddles of muddy tears; an
apology seems defeatist, a ruby seems uncultured, while negligence seems
appropriate; to die so early where others can’t feel if but to know those
private wishes; a cage unseen, an emotion made dull, especially, where
perception becomes consensus; if but to disrupt our lives, to adjust to
something loathed, where ear-pressure is yelling about disorderliness; but a
tolerant tale, but give and take, while sociality is so gangly—
I could
rave about love or blackmail by emotions or wait a silent, infective pain; to
speak with others, this lack of intensity, while balance seems to rule our
cultures; despite, anomalies, despite, aberrations, we seem to suppress our
waves; this California casualness, this open and closing wound, or so active
our minds activate; such revving royalty, such rank and damages, or so damned
it is not about to happen; indeed, feelings intensify, this remoteness
amplifies, where one is tiptoeing longitudes; so cursed or deprived or such a
legacy those eyes while good works are received by good works;
such secret understanding, such private deductions, while fire is wet; those
granite furies, to imagine our mentors, as fully accredited sages.
—it was indiscreet
my way, where one desires silent kef, if but to look perfect; damned by truth, rejuvenated
by darkness, but when I think that way—it becomes disgusting; to churn society,
to unleash hell, while forcing one into a relationship; this is sociopathic,
indeed, pathological, where too many people are psychopaths; this ground for
breeding, plus, our mothers, where we must deceive in order to procreate; such
as a thought in you, but secrets alienated in you, where many elements are
hiding so mature in you—
