I
must be sick or muffled or a failure; to possess is not to own and to obsess is
unhappy while mutuality might ease the blotch.
such
fallen pain where
realism is unfair while honesty wanes; this dying property this feudal
eccentricity where most avoid it.
those
foreign pruners those meddlesome whisperers while one might need sanity; by
taught passivity where it must yoyo while people are screaming and groaning or
aching for guidance; this phrenic device this intimate cadence while faraway
something seeks refuge.
I spoke with geese they
understood but one asked if I adored confusion; such audacity to point to facts
while mother-that-way is refueling;
our
crazed nightmares our feral phantasms where it was nice to paint phantoms;
this realm of rivers this flow of
omission while you adore every word; to unleash me to unravel me or to tether
me to chaos; this dead alien this riddled pavement or pure hatred shooting
through us;
it kills softly it agonizes while it
hardens or it becomes pure desensitization; (while we worry about love or never
satisfied where our wants are unrealistic;
running
from sheath-to-sword, used or uncertain, while mirror-talk is disgusting)!
I do
not fathom. I think it’s unsanitary. And it seems a sure shot to a clinic.
what
was I left with, besides what was given, where Love was infectious; those
charms for some are like poison to me where a delicate development becomes
something transparent; this see-through alienation this misappropriated
affection while many haven’t met their own standards; such sweet contagion, to
ask for passion, while staying present doesn’t mean reciprocation; by death a
man may love, while death is unfair, as to utter its disdain for him.
I
was young and evaluating sickness and couldn’t commit like brooks to meadows;
this lasting
relationship
this
coarse pleasure
while twigs
and walnuts or peaches and desserts watched and cringed were sounding intuition
as a Swan was lonely or needing persistence where a soul was gnawed upon,
regurgitated and spat to chipmunks.
by friendly ostracism while we can’t
include color in a state of mind where we wish we were uncolored; this fierce
eraser, but it met this page, and it couldn’t erase a damn thing; where one
exonerates self, while one utterly blames others, and such reinforcement by
parents; tortured
lovers wild lesions while never a second thought; from person to monster or
sophisticated
to
mediocre while admirers have figured the formula;
so
much unseen, if but we knew, we would panic to claim freedom.
