I mustn’t
as adrift fiddling through an ash bin. a half cigarette, a can of beer, and her
in my screams. the demon in me, the fleeing in me, myths upon a soup bone.
tender gloss as arriving lately to realize an entire life uprooted. a little
moping or a bit of anger or a need for phantom wings; the sin of the mulatto, “our
marvelous lives,” such madness we assume. over an inkpot while listening where
daylight is darkness and darkness is nightmare. too many setbacks, every few
years, with stringent struggles pacing The Great Marathon. in us so restricted
while we dream of visions such uncareful passions. it seems so difficult as if
it isn’t inherent, while treasures bleed our mistakes. a flowerbed so close to
us seated and rocking gently. a man they accuse a man they debate while most
often a silent man. I mustn’t murmur as some made fire while yelling induced
more anger. a pocket of torches a feeling like scorching such soft-spoken earnest.
by vibrancy to see glowing while
touching becomes unreal. to tow myself or to feel lit while many travel afar
escaping much. as self is present those longing groans as if surrendering is a
last option. topmost discomfort or mystical cries as presuming facial charms.
some island in an inner city while life is rolling quickly. to unwed beliefs to
become jaded or to cleanse most out while becoming stern. a man to his
fantasies as some creature to happen upon sudden evil.
such rising action or agony or
beauty; as floating a glassy stare or seizing opportunity with much unsaid.
