if
left to ghettoes, if st8 abandoned, a woman goes mad. so many measures to
meander while mangled at roots; trying black fever or gorilla minds so
enchanted by opposites. to infuse you to indemnify you while either hurt or
reborn. puce juice or russet wines at grapes asking questions. to believe he lived,
to see it in our sighs, while too overcharged to find peace. skating in a
gutter lane pushing passed fifty to hit a corner and laugh — for Love is design
so much as nothing to guess for! so
angry at me while I never knew us where it shouldn’t mean much; perfect
strangers a crying arc while Anguish published a novel. too close to huts so
much in a home, I love you to feel me! too baptized it lives deeply as opposing
his countenance; a revelation so close while a friend asked a simple question. the grave in me those sounds in you while a
soul is st8 furious. voltage in waves art in energy such private unforgiving-ness.
an aberration a problem but Love adores him. such a need for unsunny weather if
but to feel like losing kills. but bouncing to ghettoes looking at desolation
or proud Love just got a scholarship. a full ride a fuller vocabulary reciting
a poem at the conference call.
swoosh
to change lanes puffing a Kool at an algebra pace. Love is chatting a bit
pragmatic it disturbs when women lose spirit. or a volcano an angst something
rushing by invasion. but lights are out the grass is vernal the fiends are
heaving for manna. sure meats or octopus a whale awaiting transport. a cousin
elephant a massive intake while sexual affairs are unsettling. a fire in us a
ghetto in us or moving through Brentwood. so much assessment so wrong at points
while we never quite know each other. too amazed by it, the frantic anxiety
behind it, as days blaze in symphony at it.
