it’s
sluggish as it comes down. it’s favored, unraveled, or dynamite while highest.
so much the aboriginal the native so primitive like shadows. such delicate
tastes so fueled for sexuality where it might not matter. torn bedsheets a
filthy mattress or a ten-year-old pillow. polyester shirts buttoned in its midsection
where breasts tease the beast. I was in passion to see slight seduction it
meant so much—as to imagine diamonds by navels a temptress a belly dancer. our
mind-saws, filled with origami hushed in more fever: whispers murmur such a
plumbless depth such radical doors—by chains to get flame such a wet touch
while liquids have infuriated—a wiser man to multiple pains where his books are
jettisoned. Love by warmth so unafraid of sexuality where a soul might for
exclusivity; but it matters not, so intimate, it must be understood—the promise
of today the weariness of tomorrow or slight aroma such tender mornings. the
shift as it downfalls where majesty is more like, “Why have You forsaken me?”
an attempted striptease churns into madness or sullenness bathed in heaviness—those
we adore our behavior monitored so many to care for. so maudlin or forced
forward by something screaming its agenda; our kaleidoscopes our telepathic
imagination where most speak in concrete. it’s ironic, as we live, in major
abstracts. the backdrop is beautiful, those pains are ecstatic, every thought
has been re-managed. our misery is our ink, our officials our resources, our
bandages our talismans. such seams so alive while we know for ghosts or goblins
or sutures: the sorrow-chauffeur those acrobatic mind-turns at something too
delicate to lose. connected to dinosaurs. so unidentifiable. such roaring fire!
