I loved by a furnace, our best I realized,
while cruel or craned so abrasive so alienated—the pride of a machine! by
interior papier mâché or origami universe where one deserves such radicalized
treatment; as hating self, or you, such a revolution—the battle those jamesias
or flaming furious while losing family: the drugs the curse or forces imposing
presence; but it was expected it seemed necessary prior to announcing, “I’m
pregnant.” such fires in there such a rotating axis such pivotal
embarrassments: the man in his tree while ants would visit or to converse with
a chipmunk: the cobra’s contagion those pure mire-traps where a man searches
facial rules. so confusing while it works against the poet, but we refuse to
acquiesce to one meaning sheer disgrace. having nothing for us, but
vilification, or merely to prove it was never substantiated: so unconcerned
with the raised fist, such beauty as a weapon where one could have simply
asserted truth: such black magic such a centered variation where some adore flattery.
our distinction our reused history so cursed while a man would cherish his
destruction: those cryptic disguises, the vacuum praised, the faceless scars;
reborn to silence while words might renege if but to channel something in us;
such moving jazz while unable to love, where protected by cold inclination:
such blazing boredom such comforting satire or excused for sullen, indirect,
too distressed to fend for authenticity. the miserable persons, while mirrors
spoke self-hatred, where two were lightless or listless or losing! it disturbs us
to mention, but it seems appropriate: two cannot give without absolute
training.
a
tender dahlia those tender palms at anxious corridors. to have the worst or
made by the best where thought-filled people are not seduced by first views. so
young at love to believe attraction is love while many are unable to resist:
such fair wilderness or caves in mountains while something feels discomforting.
(I never perished willingly I always perished secondarily if to love so much
into healing): the threefold partnership those droplets of wailings where
comfort is more important than relationship. if but to define obscurity or to
feel safe or to live above an average compass; but times are filthy as we
harvest our proclivities while often, I’m not trying to find her!
if
so inclined, as to become every whisper, if to ski or parachute while raging to
find our interior. so silken, such meaning, where losing us wasn’t its truest gravity.
but it matters less, indeed, where it becomes something close to a planisphere.
the anxious monotony or so fevered only with newness, for not much is required.
it becomes simple, prior to knowing presence, plus, one is already searching.
by mundane, trite, even tasteless encounters: the broken moon the witness
interior so framed by life, only willing to try a little!
