by
sickness so demented but fire to brains so enlove it churns—such ravished flesh
so intense at havoc too dislodged; at some basement some gutter while so sewer-minded.
it was deflection replaced or froward as caution meant tender lies—at math by
adored flames if but to die sheer bliss. our medics our panaceas our casual
alchemy—those sweet antennas those frantic skies while a creek has always meant
bugs, animals, or leering forces. I have
surrendered in such wells too alert or too sleepy while nature would crystallize. near zinnias upon a tear while often life
causes a pang to erupt; those metallic eyes or full brown moons where anger is
shallow or oceans are unkempt so neat into dying for Love. it was our scream
our dungeon those years intimate with battles; as livid star-crossed souls such
nectar-darkness somewhere in a black-room uncivilized; by agony to caress you
by tyranny to claim Italy while carrying such dear debilitation: so close,
Lord, so devastated, while so sick of dumb ass impulses. I would by firewood or
firebrand or wedgewood—for Jesus is coming, he might ask a question, while I’d
be uncivilized to become a goat; but Love is silken flesh or knitted thighs or
such an electric derrière—where minds are filthy but Love is clean where a man
might feel spun or radical. to hear his heart to dose deeper dungeons while a
cauldron churns such addictive chaos—this pain in waves those needs for anarchy
while soft spoken sailors go through hell.
I must adore you.
if but to maintain circuits. —for Love is but breathing or agenda at galaxy or
atrocity; where it was terror, so young, as told (but knowing) it was heinous.
such July summer, or COVID-19, such underbelly where it was presidential. to
gather weeds, to assemble a pyre, or to set metaphor aflame!
