such
passion such an activist such legacy in this short ass life. love fires out the
canon or cameras flashing such regulation of the written art. I dash out, I hit
traffic, a mouth full of smoke. I pause in Palms. I reminisce. it was beauty,
disgusts, & pleasures. so mesmerizing or downright authentic while so sly
the world keeps spinning! I lost big it was angelic where foul missives
destroyed probability. but back to icons, so much to lose, while Rights are in
the balance—the furious war those black guitars those women racing marathons—so
low so high while most often we need something! too special for me too elegant
for crime or such fever in Oprah. speeding down Sunset or pausing for a shot to
meet one oblivious to the war. such color in us so much rage scaling in
measurements with happiness. to see it. to chase it. while it’s running—those gunning
instincts the geisha skills while the harmonica is in Africa. at bamboo sticks
those old hickory sticks while whites are including other races. I love the
life. I lose a feeling. I felt so numb! too much to die but life is coming to
awaken disconnected from humanity: the body disposed of, the consciousness
laughing, while to enter a young journalist.
daughters are rabid, they possess
guts, life is such geometry. they giggle at hardships they rush the waves, such
flames into skies—to spell Liberty, to roughhouse bigotry, such raw ass
feminists. in honor of you. in pain with you. to sit hawking a picture! so lost
so found while reprieve comes at a snail’s pace. the battle, those Rights,
while they detach us!
