Love
is a koan this elated sorrow or contradiction to fly or swoop higher into
levity and disgusts
those pure women by this
I fret for I have lost tender faith as
groomed for eternity so moist it’s mental at souls or spirits allegedly guilty by those trials those silent rebukes where
Little Ginger just committed to deaths
this agape nonchalance where John is living but pain to gavel, we must not surrender. It was prima facie this instant
aggression while Love was pregnant the
music was mystique this reproach is cemented flame where two are too damn smart by whisper but a casual zone but purgatory
as home or wretched a feeling where humans are perceived. (such interior motion to have
died so often while telepathy accounts for intuition; or this fatal catastrophe
where a man values association while fretting physic drums; or as it would die
but oh’ for gristle it might feel passion); pure
thunder or noetic shame while husbands are dead serious; this life in her gut
this rhythm is her soul where a man is extraordinary chef. To have dance in us or to
reject exospheres while love is unscientific; our
profane ghosts this rising validity where this might be it; but something he lost as quite
opposite of instincts while needing to gallop cross country for war; such desired oracles or such ordinariness
while condition makes her liturgical. Those tablets or those tableaus as running like
fire to elevate his intestines; so
bittersweet if but displeasure where a man looks for snugly furnace; those rubescent colors this irrigated fourth
brain while one is vicious opalescence; our
last brochure while effected to leap where it seems so detrimental; those galleries churning our tempo
increasing while I’ll give you this battle; (such
warm dissatisfaction, such pleasurable vices, while canons have un-baptized us;
at this hut gut-war, while a
hunch is a pirate, to have died by something we cannot sleep).
