It’s
wrong, those fires to extinguish and leave raw; so cold at timewise pains or
hectic a scream while guts ache; to adore as running, or to abhor while
waiting, where escape is dreary.
It was visceral
for it was poured in while another was released—this cultured rain this alien
feature so coarse those temperaments; so alive as crying so dear as losing
while feeling hebetated; as God this fire in fields where cotton was law; so
remote from you, while fierce in you, but nature is dying in you; this flood
beacon those love-veins as accursed remanded to conformity; this hell package
this gut-wrench so sweet as perfect in lies; wild willows or full mirror-ferns
while filled with tumbleweed.
A few
years into this a galaxy cringing or a person trying desperately; to see those
eyes to feel such panic while a man tries to exist; but a dear woman but a mean
creature while it’s hard to discern; a search for you, so close to you, while
we know such distance from you; feeling goodness a vex in shivers or pure
consciousness; this fretted hex this remorse in time but I wasn’t left with
options: a heart volt there, a tsunami here, or a volcano those death valleys.
—such excellence
if perceived accordingly where souls part at gates—for Jerusalem mourns or Zion
at Hills at patterns reborn; this filthy phantom this dirty cleanness or a bit
of treason-city; such excellent works such penchants and pains while wringing
his hands; a sore countenance, at pure behaviors, while anything might annoy
me; so calm in silence so aggravated in temples where a few things become phobias—those
evening eyes or that morning’s curse where unless we accept flame we lose reigns—
—such
a delicate winner or such a raining warrior while a man never fathoms guts;
this pensive mistake this wistful tinge while asking to sense why he sees that.
by wonder we assess things, where it couldn’t be that, but one sees something;
maybe erroneously or maybe by feelings, while it’s difficult to control her
feelings. so apartmental, so refrigerated, so clear, such streaming, such dying—to
adore you to never need you while it feels God to reciprocate; as given
nothing, as taking Jesus, to rob a man of every bit of faith—
pure rudbeckias or word rosariums so
ruthless or sawed while it arrived too late! this life in salience those few
whispers where existence was bloodshot; a little liquor, Jesus, it can’t hurt,
Ghost, while we go so deeply; I can’t for shallow I must a map while seeming a
bit strange—that smile a beautiful person while I exploit such desperation; or
a smile determined with a false impression while it still felt good.
