Sidewalk Saxophone

so abased as coarse the river such beauty so horrific. the swamps made home the tiny mayfly such mud so unclean. to reckon forethought where it looms by absence while precious might be one more travesty. so cursed into bleeding such stored adrenaline—at run-paths cutting curves where welted, vexed, seeking freedom. those lies meant nothing at minds with pathology such math but it’s too late for algebra. we dine embarrassment we live with abrasions so gifted so raw so isolated—if but white porcelain or ebony vanilla at sharks or whales carrying an octopus. too much to vanish too little to return or too righteous to retreat; as hated his guts but it meant so little, while it grows to insist so boldly. versicolor habits or wrecking ball delusions while most move too quickly to make decisions. more to forethought this maze of maladies where most are inaccurate. such sensuous lies such dear deliberateness insomuch souls are deluded for years. (would you have me, in that space, where I always look askew? would you love me, exactly like that, where I couldn’t breathe? or would you risk humanity in one rush to just pour out every detestable ribbon?) a person realizes something, in this rinsing abandonment, we learn that our lives are fragile; it comes by a glance, but it was oh so my imagination, to have treasured another above common resources. it seems too unsteady, too ready, where one is at disbelief.     by griot history or satire redemption to put life in the infights; silver concrete or basement candles, it has become pure fire; our investments or determination while creating screams. if but to live its lamp if but to sustain its lance while dying in you seems adolescent: the chained gates those graph-paths or sidewalk receding into mind-caves. so dependent so disturbed while liking is a hassle, a hurdle, some type of hurting. unmoved resistance or organic fireflies while loving seems incredibly human.