I utter
spoils or screams as one facing his dungeons. I soar by miseries as last to
make vivid while affected by years; to feign as normal such a rush to evince
where souls feel banished.
The lakes
are dry the desert is ocean where an old scorpion is deceased and stinging; to
become his torture or to become his angst insomuch as demons are hunting.
I have lost
feelings where emotion becomes countenance or visceral anxieties probe our
eyes; watching where unevenness becomes stiffness—or catatonic determination;
by wells or caves or dynasties and flames so threshed so gouged so ruined. I wait
like I can’t exhale I wrench through graves like I can’t rebuild or I sit
decorated by dishonors; to imagine such fervor to become mystic disadvantage or
weary it would bring us displeasure; for the octopus is on land and the whale
is conversating where an elephant has become belligerent. Those sea cries so
embedded in atmosphere while Love has been such a miracle.
I fed
a mannequin
I ate venom
it seemed the nights were spawning;
or close
to fences while digesting barbs as such a soul wrestling wire; but Love is
young or Love is resilient while deciding to resist critical thought; this
chamber by interrogation those
welts unbeknownst to essence where
existence might pester; both
energy and zeal so long into eyes where one day and
sudden a curse the endless night grew softer.
I will love the
adored creature sighted into a senseless measure while we die or create a
private bastille; at satchel or iron so ferric so complete while Love has been
denied; those features endure, the wilderness is haunted where deer seem so
casual. Or there one resigns a pot held so black while days seemed but snow;
this misused feather those onyx wings if but so attuned to determined screams;
such tanks or trailers by such misery or wealth while one is too close it
hurts; as fatal ferrets so formed in grease or too slippery to grip existence.
