I
drag a cigar I hit a book so much math so dear to loving you—an anchor its gut
where a man is begging for freedom. oh its color its taste by feeling its
texture, to have a ratio to sense us waltzing where ballets are poetry, the
bounce of its world those deep fringes while I know for intimacy of a breakdown.
by beats into drums a guitar, saxophone & dark jazz—such blues where I sense
you while it means so little, for death was sweet it drove energy while its
visits were sporadic; our capricious beliefs while I must be skeptic those dear
phantoms; but mother came, she was gentle, I gave her a hug: the years at its crime
those basements filled with smoke or raging through traffic clear over seventy
miles per hour. so much in me, for mother is there or sanction seems degrading—those
algorithms those oligarchies at some deranged ideal: where a mystic giggles a
psych is observant or a psychologist is a different flow—those vacuums those
deep dyes while drenched for famous in a mind no one persisted: if but the
pieces to build a puzzle while aching or teary so close to hating its cruel
violence: meditated into fire or a swoosh into windows to admire how it slams
through walls: something peculiar something playful while adoring you’re a good
person: a problem I have, to love a wraith, where logic beats at younger
emotion; as predicted, as passionate, while closeness might feel so odd; by
critical chaos, by associated autonomy, so filthy but clean, so pregnant
without child, or so forgiven but hated. by truer voyage by truer voltage but a
vexed soul sinning outdoors sexuality. such rain or reason or railroads at a
home some haven misbelieved. to revive where experience becomes insight or
revolting on many manic memories.
