do ‘others’ exist, in totality, in life we
part? such stitches. they seem fetid. they have not been removed. but a skin
dilemma, or a demanded curse, or too mulatto to fathom. such raw racism our
universe our faces so similar—as bright or winded as deluxe or recharged where
it can’t matter much.
by furious frantic fires or dying in
response or beaten for peaceful protests as such our old America.
how
should cultures exist, such apish asphalt, by spiders or gila monsters? so
unborn or given such atmosphere where one is screaming, “Damn your life.”
so
much to establish so dead on arrival while power is palatial or impertinent; a
lady might fathom, enduring levity, or social mayhem, so famed to die this
legacy.
life
is pushed into dinosaurs or old country vengeance or some type of oligarchy.
(but it means so little, a man must show diplomacy, but many men are unfit. it
came by vanity it speaks to Suburbs where it remains uninterested. it seems a
pill is liquidity or essence demented it gives more to its gullet.) so torn or
determined so adamant so certain where America is battered, tattered, while
evidence shows the leader’s failure.
by accounts or calendars into dirty or
grungy politics—surrounded by irreligiosity where a talisman is posture or
appearance or deaths for ‘others.’ such racist demonstration. such uncurrent disgusts.
when a person looks so into dollars. “I see bills or potential victims, I see
objects!”
we
watch mirrors, despite color, they speak indiscretions; they utter
insecurities, they are most vigilant, we see sickness in ourselves. we hold
distrusts or disgusts where we’re angry for receiving what we often give. but
power or design where America is often its hardknocks. ‘others’ have dignity,
as forced to dream, while actuality is painted by its fog. it frets like
begging. it comes by reluctance. it often repudiates the old economy.
