Automatic Writing

 

it was difficult as to understand what we see. it was a challenge to reflect on what most become. so close it’s tiresome or so much gravel one is forced to see. those cherries those lemons where two become much of tomorrow. I project too often. I want but lose. the soil is coughing. such bleeding like addicts some ghosts—as a fever those blue whistles a man is groveling unto deaths; too hopeful too weary such a guarantee—this dying shame as becoming pain to rain in with cats; the filth of passion the dirt we eat so soft so automatic. to hate men or to loathe women while needing, nonetheless. a ship is at port a melody just shifted a mind is at its cave. to swear inwardly such predicament so tethered to tattered remedies. our sameness or hardcore cliches while some sense something too trite. the same tryst those similar diamonds, in fact, they were bought for a trillion women. by a familiar Rolex or familiar perfume—as so common, it begins to infuriate. such simpleness, looking for grandiose, such sickness called by its envy. a man with low stature, to mingle while mangled in a world mad concerning innateness.

 

(I met her, she snapped, she was carrying something. I hit a button, one simple question, but I was categorized. it would never be peaceful. it would always be resistance. so I resisted what came to fruition: the negative fire those sparkling flames while two despise what they see: those irritabilities while hiding status such fury in eyes decoded. so indelicate such hard tornadoes with rage in our Hawaii.)

 

stormy glens such as never forgiven while one protects what she has built. this is union, so much invested, where to lose it comes with dying. those trees such leaves such dust mites. a bed too intimate a man allowed to satiate, a woman reminiscing on another time. thrown, too backed against, slung to feelings. warmed up, devastated, but still asleep!

 

(I was asking questions, she became defensive, she didn’t need me to miss her anger. small irritation where they hit buttons so deliberate—this becomes fretted gut. the hope is to bate to ignore rules to build something that might self-destruct.)

 

so patient while it runs out where it’s rejuvenated, for Love is her wind her fire her skies her valley her deaths her ink.

 

running but unfound an artifact in a garden to have lain eyes on a foreign woman; to want with desperation to eat tumbleweed for Love is a prostitute. so much gunning as needing to revamp while he runs back into himself.

 

the life of the pimp to feel angered if one arrives with god’s gifts.

 

the passion of a woman as there for recruitment if but a man with his head in her arteries.

 

so much a truth so gutted in time, but a man must never think of self.

 

trekking through a society, an Armenian community, I’d never met such a woman. we arbitrate pedestals, where one is a survivor, I thought to all the pain I might share—all the moons we might charge or suns we might bemoan or heat we might generate; for this is love, the virus is our airs while trying to adore one promise—the kiss of strangeness or a body we crave or a woman looking so different: our dear illusions, where a thing is true, a person will change for honor!

 

(emotional development in a world her soul her actions her deliverance. to know a deeper existence filled with compassion as too close to ever rest. such leviathan whispers such monstrous murmuring where one searches for addiction—thought but pain so alive as chasing to coarse through autumn with recklessness—by wreckage of its internals so much communion I vomit or so Asian dishonor floats by death. a sick poet looking for grace so faced by fierce resistance. to prick a man to pet his disability or to have set a design where it speaks anger—those courage eyes those exquisite fingers such to have become devastated. to hold envy to pet jealousy so much concerned about paranoia. but life is metanoia as sheer convergence as despite our direction.)

 

soreness in a sound, pain in something written, while we must look at out parts. to feel discerned to relegate to a class while evidence says—she might fit anywhere. broken fixtures feral phantasm so dear to a phantom in us. a bit defensive a bit to rain the reigns of a woman he might never meet.