what
is it, such tarmac, stepping on my face? so needed or crooked while behaviors
are fishing. pure raw beef, a bit chewy, where much is contagion. mind bazookas
or soul machetes where it isn’t you as much as mother. by and through, or tears
that drip, or something cavelike as it aches. the interior pantheon or an inner
desert filled by paleontologists. the estranged self the alien father at something
near survival: by inner chatter or noisy clubs while a man pulls over and
reflects.
I
saw it winking I heard it by the kettle while I wanted a converse. the bleeding
machine so dogmatic while we hide near structure: Love at her deposits or Love
at disguises while Love was torture to bones or gesticulations. our hidden
lamps our ravenous trombones or raven black essence. as taken by wastelands or
deeper the blue night or shallow if but to know all of Love: those identity
bags the hypersensitive measure or the shadowed phantom.
it
was first a command, or then yelling, where the crescendo was a nightstick!
so
born an underdog, plus mommy smokes, where father jumped bail. the grassroot in
me those alienations while a man sought out logic: so callous or so freezing
while something was skipping out on humanity: the black sheep with the maverick
while both are filthy losers. as looking down stressed upon sands to notice
indentures: the faceless palm, those teacup eyes, or those roaring cobras—at kniphofia
springs surrounded by deranged, animalistic, unencouraged thoughts: motor
skills or imagined skills where a wild dog was quite friendly: the southern
monologue the broken key while a mind wanders where it goes!
it
was apparent while we isolate where some are so vivid it becomes nausea, as not
a clue or so detached while insanity has passed into maniacal pressures. so
glasslike the hour of harms so filtered by something imaginary: the shapeless
color the absent permanence or destitute but laughing: a bedroom table, or an
antique personality, as one written into psychiatry.
the
machines or instruments or researched and researchers the man restitched and
given to society: the common reoccurrences those few personalities where
researchers have narrowed it down to two types. such mazing anxieties so much
room for opportunity while saying it is dismissive. those hydrant eyes, or
stories so long, while it was essential to fall for the mirage: if but to
deflate, such pride before a man’s fall, such revision before a woman’s rise:
our silhouettes as music would suffer her voice rooting such dead animation. a
teaspoon of humility or a cup of familiarity while a man might suggest he has
the entire blueprint. such naïve souls such hell in bars where it was a year in
a halve debating something he couldn’t shake. to meet one or two or three those
powers while I seem like candy, for they reach into me.
so
aplomb listening to home while feeling so displaced. the private wars that
everyday survivor while looking at what we’ve done. it haunts like pain it
kills like laughter to realize the ass of something quite tragic.
I
never knew such agreements, or cogency, or straightforward honesty. our memory
stockroom or our soul’s wreckage so after something to keep us happy every day;
but far too evolved while we chased academia where it evolved us to such a
plateau, we can’t find satisfaction.
