we
sense a force it dwells in thoughts to think ethics, hunch over, vomit,
damn near die. pear particles plum chinks beneath turquoise skies. I’ve been
damaged or rewarded at the safehouse—some spot in Oakland some territorial pains
while doing a hundred on the 210. some dream while she dies so many men so much
a need—if to cherish self or humanity where morals destroy innocence. maize
grass beige roots bleeding into pavements, or a stranger’s gavel, trying so
hard to look innocent; apples or trees or whittles while whistling or running
or standing in stillness. violet begonias a stillborn agony such helium to escape.
hanging with ‘good’ people or a soul made puritan while miserable enough to
frighten an unborn. an achy sunflower a jasper emotion while a man might ignore
signs—so young at it so difficult with it such a need for fulltime satiation—so
low with it so distressed by it so much a feeling for any damn thing! read my tarot
or undress invisibility while a soul gets to thinking: if this is design, and
You tolerate it, How in the nest are You not guilty? (I blame you for blaming
me, we’re two from the same harvest: dirty or reluctant or enjoying with
ritualistic abandon!) so filthy so clean while I was inverted; a savage dog a
maniac a holy mandala! too much to excavate too embedded to remove—we cover it
with dirty syrup; we bathe in gin we pray for months we feel like sadness. it
sounds like hogwash, but it’s oozing with truth—some people can’t figure beyond
a given sensation. it takes years while we see pathologies where conscienceness
is an occupation—not a place to visit sometimes.
