it
gets catlike the richness of terrors or manic friends. to drill as you, to
scream as you, or to be captured like you. such silt as monocles or muddy
hearts this war on high. by dark windows or clanging pots or sentences upon
winds. outside of brains or inner projectors while words crawl up mountains. to
watch or listen while holy scarves are preaching—our first sermon our drenched
needs while believing in you was natural. the beauty in women that torch so
hectic to find one upon skies. such bastard origins, father wasn’t right, or
mother wasn’t faithful. such a battle we endure while searching for loyalty
only to meet one so honest is fertilizes us: long spiteful discussions; or
overbearing anguish; so complete I’d rather integrity than secrets; either/or,
by deterioration, while squirrels are wailing, or I struggle to wake up. its
forceful purpose, or particular chemicals, so caught so weary into such
wilderness. to trek alone or meet the hibiscus woman where one is devastated by
mania and beauty. to die one last time, if I must eat—so many tantalizing
illusions. so much to argue where actions are incorrigible while debating with
one that feels nothing. our insanity eyes while wrestling in sand to come from
him into hugging me: a knife in pocket, to spare my life, for I was far a
kindred soul.
