some
elements are broken, they can’t be fixed, where a desperate man tries harder;
by ignoring physics, by cleaving to beliefs, while some hopes are
ill-calculated.
I’m
not a sycophant, nor a robot, while nightfall is turquoise-purple. those few
events, as revealing essence, to conclude concerning resolution. this puddle of
screams, this in-faced deliverance, or framed by impossibilities.
To meet
so many versified in one person to then ask for normality. It’s absurd!
The project
is skewed. The tenets are entitled. To breed or creed or persons!
I hit
a light, sudden into turbulence, so,
I sparked
a cigarette.
I retreated,
for the war was a decade, but I have it not to give.
the tint
is heavy, the tinge is cold, and I can’t abort prose.
but what
to honesty, while mirrors are murky, where a man might hate you.
so
volatile in measures, so rebuked from life, where a person gives you nothing.
indeed,
we charm ourselves, for everyone loves us,
while
Sindy in neurology despises our guts.
but a
drug, while functioning dearly, and fully sober enough to pass judgment.
where
a man is an outcast, while
never
for entrance, but it feels nice to reject him, anyway.
I heard
a violin, so I turned to see, and
it was
projection.
such
lightfast years, prayed over fantasies, while
composing
like something’s wrong.
I met
a woman, but I sensed a doctor, the lines never blurred.
I met
a professor. I made her a muse. I lost keys where lines blurred.
but not
to discomfit, or more to reality, where I flit with
a
few desires.
such
dull boulders, the repetition of water clashes, to find in time us
humans:
those
trap-wired fences, this person a fire, this feeling negated.
I sense you, this
angry young person, while dealing with such blackmail; screams and cries and
rugs and water to have and hold to keep and suffer; such relegation, such camouflage,
while becoming a chameleon; by emerald ink or silver palms where a few things
are not important; upon a zinnia or painting lilies so core at sacrificing privileges;
a do right person, a defensive person, for self-regulation is achieved softly;
those days to essence, as what we see—it possibly is; a skeptic that way, or a
fire leaf, at dear rain.
