the mythos
of the grave the club of the empire the blood of bleeding such balm in a
carcass. too much oxygen too elated to smile such raw ass rockets. I met Africa
some blond chaos while at an albino. so rude to me such pain in me such a liver—I
hope it works! so real in an instance such souls at confrontation a man
escaping his mirror! those hills in Inglewood those alleys in Watts or backstreets
in Beverly Hills. a soul takes to intensity a soul appreciates Kerry a mind is
at his lineage. by raging eyes the pride of Europe or abased as some creature
excused to die. I sense Love in carnival I laugh at my guts, I vomit, rinse and
take a swig. I have life to give, a kid with miracles, or a mother hiding her
identity. we never need embarrassment, it cuts like scissors, it was hell to
live like a sheep. so tetras fitting pieces to run into an ideation—some feeling
like dying where a man fears environment—or cursed to exist as born to croak
while trying to immortalize ruins. so much in Kenya or too much in our Caribbean
while Rihanna such a monotheistic body. I play piano or violin while something
is breaking freedom; to see it grovel to beg forgiveness to deflate its
essentials.
so many regions so raw too lost to
invite—the party is potential the flag is flashing while many are Confederates.
I hit a cut. I jump a fence. we met in Sacramento. the curb whispers those
clouds gander while winds are taking notation. Love is losing or art is
arranged while deep pain made our playwrights. too much to exist so much to pave
planets while feeling grandiose: a countenance debating an entrance at its gala
or a museum in her backyard. to float with impatience or to adore her soul
while a friend just converted to Buddhism.
