—but
lost boys raging in terror too afraid to utter incompletion; so driven it aches
such ghetto solutions while reality might become a physician; those reaching
messages, this torrent formula, while accused of nectar resistance; such
sweeter violins a man chartered to islands if but such delirious misery; but
Agony is beautiful and Agony has wishes while a man loses something in fires;
this coarse moan this revving machine as time would die, resurrect, and wreak
havoc; our order for business, is to write majestic, if but to jiggle something—we
enjoy its resonance; this paining pleasure this nonidentity or so sure of
something a nonentity; such silene sorrow, such watsonias crying, where it was
so hurtful it felt goodness—
—by cursed
ignorance or shadows at melancholia so mawkish it screams; to endear a fruit or
to wave a pomegranate where it was death such torn freedom; after something not
needed, or desperate in a manic second, while fever or dynamite or radiant
affection; to give doubt its breakfast, while actuality is broken, if but to
ignore this chanting ecstasy; to need breakage to ask by harmony while pain is
its chaos theory—
It was vicious,
Precious, it was death, grandpa, while skies sat silently; by tragic results,
while we please horizons, where every liaison was damn near enjoyment; but
nothing pleases, while nothing satisfies, if but to possess every pain on earth;
such Promenade dissension, such deep desperation, as coming to release; those
rising risks, this wringing element, where a man disputes his affections; to
love like animals, to live like maniacs, while asking for those sentient
loyalties; such signature grief, while a woman is watching, but a man must cut
into his miseries; to face grandma, if but her last son, while life is death
and death is celebration; this pyre of activity, those rich blue speedwells,
where a soul might scream concerning a filthy habit.
—what by longitude
or what is the deadline where one hides because pain has seen her face; this
faith practice, this imprecation, while so certain a child by highest
redemption; to hate for it leaked out, to feel but self-remorse, while a
daughter is mother’s sullenness; by chance at life, while roaming with wounds,
or abandoned to city jungles; to do as mother, to live like mother, as to
settle like mother; this gamble this guarantee or those eyelash begonias; such
sexual creatures, so fraught by anguishes, while some just need a few victims;
to hate all men but need a few good men while deeper into a third child; so helpless
our actions, as reprobate as Judas, while so desperate to create a new chapter;
by blood or brine by deaths or repentance, so off into seals—
