so
regathered such a disappointment as mother died. so left with disdain so under
his mountain so deeply reversed. how to contend death, its reach, while
wrestling with fleas—the mighty hand so misunderstood, as to take his God &
give him despair! a man to his demons a woman to her ghosts insomuch as both
suffer from redemption—its idea its ideal so captured by eternal serenity. such
destitute spirit such harpoons to souls while so wild it became harmful. I would
love like winning, the world was giggling, I could hear, I saw snickers, but it
wouldn’t compute. the last to seek evidence the first to walk into it while
fire was resolute in its empire. but a man to art or pain to soul so regathered
the present moment. as one would lie but right to his crown to then wonder if
it worked! I would love by nature as some innocent essence while destroying me
seemed a blessing. to sense beauty to hate self while despising anything puts
ghosts to flame! it was daisies or jamesias or daffodils—such raw tiresome pain
such guts into planets those bones to ceilings—as to wonder those concerns
while adoring our wakes where poppa returned to read an effigy. our last days
our dear disaster while a man can’t see his flesh—if but to live or surely die
in such agonies or splendor of the machine. (I adored it. it’s been a while.
while I worry so sickly!) into the drumkit into the trombone while dancing upon
musical symbols. so devastated by tides so ruined in a moment while most
families feel justified; fed hatred given deceit while some stereotypes seem applicable.
(yes! too frightening to seek or too reckless to absorb where adoring you was a
hellish disaster.) if but to live if but to wonder, while I feel souls that possess
the ghosts!
