dark
coffee. grandmother’s brew. if but wise in absence. the horrid truths as fires
so rebuked by winter. the drink when sober those bushes symbolic or guava in
Fiji. by an allegory, some hidden measure, typically moral or political.
the
music was a reason the pain was an invite, as meanings into windows. those
pears were secretive they wouldn’t talk, concerning becoming witnesses. a soul
might unravel the fibers are milky so much the last leopard.
I felt
bad. it seemed appropriate. feelings are density. brains parceled out,
fragments as whole evidence, initial emotion as clarity. I feel her. I feel
others. feelings are frequencies. so low or too high after confidence. bloody
napkins or mother’s addictions while father got free. the jail sentence in a
little room mother forbidding dinner. a cup half full same cup empty while we
scream at perception. the earth is chancing the devil is laughing, we can’t
escape lusts. a gun on a table a bullet under her tongue, she wants to play
delivery. a body naked, as never so gorgeous, a man can’t say too little. such
discomposure, so aggravated, if but to have so much more of living. a railroad
a train track a honeycrisp apple. a pail of sugar an acidic itch while fever
was meant in vanity. a scar at noon, a fret at morning, too naked, too nasty, (what
I hate I become!). but a clay pot but mere pottery, to ask why it must be?
I couldn’t
picture rain it was aloof but right at shoulders—those jasmine cigarettes while
days are gore so terrible to us; the fire in shackles, such voltage last month,
where time is such a blur—the same day the same minute as just repeating
similarities.
if
to rewind me, such knee-jerking, where security is a feeling we need—as creatures
running while looking backwards such a raw ass camera. so slumped forward in
such a stink where one has tried so often.
