by
imprint he reknit as sensing keys. such rough ink or inclined frustration so regular
without resolution. as not to confess, but it’s irritable, controlling, as in
something ghastly. it has mowers. it dines with souls. it’s quite gothic. such murky interaction so repulsed by types
where he shouldn’t be a ghost.
the floor listens the walls speak cryptic or the ceiling is coughing. if but to misuse him or to find acceptance where it becomes our pathology. but Love by body by wits by gold! such deep ruins a man running while bugs attach to his guts.
I saw mother such steep depression a razor a mirror an irate son. such habits so near where we wonder about overdose. so many drugs. they can’t be numbered. where they aid at attempting to groom others: such passion or violence if but to awaken from slumber. such earthquakes such disputes while it felt like venom: so many pillars or undulations while life is repulsive; by agony or predicament by wrench or pliers where most are closer to graves. such tender yokes or deeper fury while I wrestle with self-portrait. the courtyard the psyche where only few know of scandals. by a mystique aura or knowing fireballs while one stumbled on clarity; to hate by stomach to discard by rib while one is close to decoding human sentiment: those mind-islands or that steep need if but to feel adorable forever.
I knew us as involved with us while I loathed us; by intimacy so close, held afar, while gavels dropped, laughed, or condemned us to eternity. this race to escape the exile reminder where it seems inconsequential. (by mind if but by mind to trick his uneven mind!)
sound in there those ruffling bushes while something is hissing. I lost war I understood next war but it was draining, psychological, or it unfastened an un-treasured reservoir: his diamonds his legacy while all things are painted by a little filth; if but to remove me as to extend me where even a daughter needs greater perfection; this sky of champagne or the impassioned novice as to understand where mud might be rinsed.
upon a flute or a mandolin or a trumpet—those fevered frenzies or rich abeyance if but someone to grieve over anguish. so pulled inward so centered on self while this is existence. the all-time masquerade the devious charade while youngsters have a chance to outwit us. such soul-of-my-spirit those jasper eyes as if it was meant to live again. so torn by presence as opposed by presence where presence holds a grudge. as to volunteer, to join a carnival, where attractions are never ending. the arithmetic of silence. the tragedy of loving you. or those disappointments too steep to redeem. the child so angered, or days flipping through behaviors, or a particular hurt so steep it ruined existence. but nights are by selection or evenings are by choice while the undercurrent is never examined. to have certainty while negotiating certainty where changeable variables are science. such a battle. where everything has been intruded upon. where a man feels his mishaps are a blessing. indeed, some are laughing, others are terrified, while some plotted his devastation. I met a woman. she was ill-groomed. I gave her skies to adorn. we forget our incipience. we grow into our strengths. we un-cherish while sounding incomplete. I watch, as understanding its source, but some remain intangible.
