I
could die again if promise meant legacy or a beautiful brown-eyed miracle. (a
man ruins self in an attempt to find self as he arrives fifteen years too late.
such exaggeration but the man is filthy while understanding pain. some
religious soul or some portrait of European-Africa, as dying to relive where
wisdom would be forfeited.) I cherished something but unlike mandates where
something doesn’t quite feel right; the inner madman or edgy madness such
mandolins spacing into auras; a bold essence a middle-mind while dying is
mostly its arrival. to take courage as in being that person instead of hiding
for it feels disgusting; no one praises it but a few mannish with it while we
yearn for those arcs next door. (to see a person glowing to arrange a mind-call
where the phone-gut is ruined. so angled that way or clouds explosive where
shame reigns for decades. I cherished mistakes so naïve as to believe sincere
apologies meant something. (so, I gave life another direction, another portal,
if not, deterioration would have set in…—for most have kids where most have careers
while others have an art their chasing—or all the above.) so frequent those seconds as a man is most
trifle where some are meant to remain silent: devastation means little,
betrayal is muffled, even disease is something kept quiet. indeed, such a
benefit, where reality is beat damn near to death, or intuition is a damn
lie! to exist closely such watching
as forced to deny our own perception. but this man, such a scoundrel, he must
never be granted entrance.
I feel graceful,
to have met so many, truly at spiritual war. such as mind-gorillas or phoenix
fire while we never measure by extent a person’s reception of us!
