we
become flustered insofar as to un-paralyze senses where we mimic our
devastation. too excluded to pretend or too much ego to descend into something
no one understands; such perversions such heart-molestation while he beat her
into suicide; stepfather was vicious, mother was vicious, but deep pain rarely
decodes itself. those days at harmony while still melancholic where posts or
signs seem inconsiderate. our hypersensitivity our oxymorons or carpet seeming
interesting; such doormats, we can’t expire, where we become non-sociable. I have
loved with logic. I have cruised nice neighborhoods. I met one with a chitzsu.
her husband was resting. it was 2 a.m. and she was distinguished. I walked
away, she would cast a glance, I was certain something felt askew.
I cry fire or watery clearance as at
a must to conjure up devotion. I dance
with you as eerie by you where reality seems insignificant:
those cryptic tendons those pure
decisions while I can’t fathom much about passages. at something terrific or
something illusional but raw clarity dizzies its occupants. to have built
shards
or to have strewed neglect (where we
must admit to that stone/concrete wall); such schism or destiny to abhor either
us or them, but something must feel hated.
it
was jasmine buddings it was sheer distrust it was claustrophobia. we meant
nothing and nothing was beautiful we came to our postscript. I was stressed.
such induced an emblem. where I sense your hearing horrible mountains—while others
are so pure no one is engaging that; this image we need. this self we profess.
while one says, “Didn’t you say something different?” I have no issues with that. I play jumping-jacks. I remember
backgammon. too old for our ages, or too foreign in thoughts, while sneaky but
upset to be duped; our duplicity, our phlegmatic approach, our interior on
switch.
