by
an hourglass such shivering as admitting wrongness. such gut-fire such rumination
while accursed this round. orange skies those grays, such social pages, while
decency becomes fair discussion. you might feel a person, so dearly charmed, as
sheer disappointment ruins future disposition. so neural now. I take a guess. but
it isn’t hard. —oh it was you those absent years as oh it was profanity; to
slam a feeling to down a shot or something too gray to admit— such nesting such beadles or sky-mites; as
gnawing her guts so thrown away running into turmoil or treasure; such a friend
as facing his phantoms while close to choking up the ghost. it locks at a dead-end, hands up screaming
for mercy too sewn to deteriorate—but oh each death! family whales such distressed looks where
one wonders of what you’re dragging: the earth’s eggplant the world’s energies
or the demon’s existential; a problem in her mirror, a manic in her anger, or
battling an internal prescience. so paranoid so nervous or filled by anxiety. a
damn cartoon a radical hesitation where familiarity fills what life is
worth. the photograph is
reclusive. the story is
redundant. we cringe to rehearse
it—such a noisy ass imperfection! by
pentacle ink or unlikely aspiration so suited for a few words; as alien
creatures trying desperately while affected by heritage. by phonograph or polygraph while parties
concerned have formed beige lies.
you may become
virtuoso or an organic knitter at some office surrounded by admiration. “but it looks dreary the essence is
slipping the truth is frantic; Love is dying, mother is trying, father is
estranged. so much devastates so many irritabilities plus something pushing out
of my face. it gets so gray the fields are muddy the carpet is bleeding. these
shoes so heavy those roots so obscure while identity isn’t solid.” so much coherence so tugged but clear
while something wild is inside. it must respond. it lives for
acknowledgement—while ignoring it, demonizing it, (getting lost in someone’s
damnation of it), it ruptures your soul.
such a gift such a curse but perception depends upon the knowledge you
eat. your kitchen is your home, you have the last say, you are its chef, its
professor, its library! it started
at infancy, while storing data, but most of essence is first acidic—as fantasts
negotiate, taking inventory, peering into soul-existence.
(you are loved,
cherished, & ready for your crown.)
