(those
dregs those corners those putrid foul feelings.) I die so often. it learns
itself. there’s a certain response. (such violins. I am most aware. but what if
we share rain.) as it drips into ideograms or idioms where husbands grip Love
for dear conveyance. she gawked where it hurt, as never a more deadly
happiness. so reptilian so cursed while so intangible; but Love drew eyes or
Love broke ceilings, where it was fair in its ugliness. a fueled fool. or a
manic man. either/or, “I can’t adore you.” (so dreamy about zinnias or gazanias
or angst, armor, or airs; to dine in screws or to pass a tool while one specializes
in unbolting those ghetto pavements: those mirrors, Mommy, those pipes
churning, while many have ironed out consequences.
the cretin in sin, those saber-wolves,
while I attempt to edit every faux pas. a mere photo as it spoke to sincerity
while I realized, it was too early. a soul needs quickness. this is how H.I.V
evolved. if but to watch a mother!
such interweaving or interlocking
while a soul would adore loving you. to see your eyes if but one glimpse to
chase that emotion through dedication: those films in brains as lost in science
while murky concerning hierarchy: Is the God in man’s dissertation? such
cedarwood or saxophones where telegraphs are often by spirit: the lunging fire
those disbeliefs while evidence is mostly internal. but you sing. you are the
drum. where screams are fuchsia—such instrumental by trombone as one ignites
social cellos—those gray shivers while cold chills to die by penance!
