so
many miles or such pain so insufferable or minced spirits. made insoluble as
creatures while happiness is pathological. I have given destiny or ecstasy if
but too famished to eat. such wrung emotion or ringing screams if but to
respond to one’s own disability. those inner mouths those interior lips or by
far those mental lungs; as outage souls so dearly accursed by deeper essence/attraction.
to re-adore something misunderstood or to study pure anomaly where a man might
struggle to feel normal. by truth such rhythmic rooting where fretting becomes
territorial; as having life or seeing nakedness where it was once an
exceptional rocket; as to die a smidgen where remorse would grow insomuch as to
fear loneliness. by ruckus noise so embedded in wounds but dying seems incomplete—those
watery lenses or uncaged emotions as death would draw upon life. so much cooking in order to establish in
rhythm to avail in souls so prehistoric; to wonder about reasons in such gates
where a man changes his entire arithmetic—as loony come intelligence or
debilitated come stability where loving a person comes with negotiation; for it
seems precious as so attuned, even smooth, compatible, while it eludes those
direct questions: “Have you died; Have you such illness; or a greater one, Have
you given something that never disappears?”
that man is a poet or a writer or a novelist; he dances in shadows or drowns
in literature while there’s too much to receive. those moons are crazy-eights or black-diamonds
or whitesmiths where treasure is life or undercurrents or yoked kef to sink
into your torture. those California desperations those steep inclinations while
a woman gives more than her art requires: as creatures un-whispered or minds
made flamboyant while many have grandiose ideals: to love like warriors or to
bond with women-soldiers if but to sense such terrible indebtedness. where ink is rose-gardens or interior is Zen
leaves by culture or humanity; to outlive insecurities to want for resurrection
to spark a fire.
