—we
respond to anything, we die or recount, where medics are nearby; mother
overdosed, I feel teary, I think of granny; too much sauce too much river or
too much complaisance—those rosebud cries into tectonic nights while I held
back too much; a song for mercy an infant stillborn while mother grips a crib—and
craves suspension or fresh off a pill while rolling into cabinets; this madness
this over-exaggeration those friendly fevers; mystic delight or mystic feelings
while I will never commit again; a daughter inquires, I want life for her,
while she noticed I was backing forward; pure contradiction or oxymoron at
something too distasteful to mention; as imagining such heinous appetite, while
mother was positive, where addiction was murder; those few years while speaking
in tongues to abandon the apostolic life—
It
was read. It was lethal. I see something I can’t mention. This fear in
tortures, this garden the day of breath, to lose a father while kneading a
seed. Our gambling eyes, our inhibitions, if but to lower enough for clarity. Such depth
and swimming like three are one this field this fantasy or years waiting for
you; as never for blindness while craving or starving in such passion to die
one last birth; this walk by hells this cell in Sienna where Catherine was a
bit devastated.
Alleluia!
I
disappear bathing mind so enlightened and wanting nothing—this need for desire
this penalty for ecstasy while parts do not sing; assigned to pages or sensing
dissonance while it became too clear: our bodies such resilience our brains
shared with lovingness while an atom was plugging its sewer.
Selah
