I
have evening fire such whelming such posture. to have died in silence to
rupture freely where most are confused. through paintings of you by diagrams of
pity such ink-spots near frontal lobes. a man has fever he speaks with a
psychiatrist he is diagnosed as bipolar. as living such a padding where
introspection in every second; to know eruption to sing at interior some corrupt
element needing its freedom. I read an emotion I wrote an effigy some image
concerning some mistake. many get dizzy or angry to see something
uncomfortable. if but all beauty if but unraw scrapings where life is summed up
in one epigraph. by elegy to meet by requiem to mourn or by roots to make pain
our Love. we prune material we hide in our shed I have collected too many
tools. its pain is by feeling to have something inside with little force to understand
it. such uncooked, unleashed, acrobatic melancholy; but I speak to walks or
paintings or submerged in excellence—to make passion to fiddle with reality or
to lose for unbeknownst reasons—where one lingers some unqualified source but
timing becomes a demon’s dance. but a banshee. I hear chains. we saw at
shorelines. those bankrupt winners as I reread Psalms while palms are filled
with nails. such shrubberies in courts such ankles bleeding while a man sits in
his feces. they don’t need me whining. they can’t stand me cursing. where it
felt like hell trespassing. I never knew her. there is pain in her. where two
have melded so gelidly. those roses or daisies or lilies; those cars or
skateboards or bikes; so much rolling as returning to admit, “I have only moved
mentally.”
by cave we mean brains by plural we
mean lovers by addict we mean liquor. to apologize for existence or to feel
guilty for pointing at those seas or fretting a meeting for telling some argument.
or needing consuming love or baking some illogical romance or saying to hell
with rationality. as men win hearts or women win souls where a child is lost
without parents.
