being
with disorder might feel like religiosity, as getting close to essence in a
field fraught by force. hearing timbal echoes or unhinged from anything but
what’s inside. foggy disposition, firm rationalization, at some internal shift.
I go gray as affixed in trance a
lady noticed. I needed psyche I was a ghost in psyche it was measured by momma.
but into father, as accursed by family such begging to get right. attention
seeking or bruised in soul while mediocre on correctness. a man as friend a
woman as feral they ditched me.
so knotted so precise as felons
running.
an ink-print a palm of bearings so
wild into a gorilla. I see it vividly a casket by name as made of metal; a sparse
funeral a mask in dreams while wilderness was grimness. to hassle over words to
feel a certain affect while we argued over syllables.
I walk differently. I see angels.
Love is damn secure.
so abject so damn low while feeling
good. a suffering exposition a wretched set of hands where passion is a ritual.
I was lost such a daze no one came. I trespassed I offended I got to feel
rejection. so pure in life such a decent person while many hate the goodness.
a locket in a ditch a snake atop a
pile such filing his brains. so easy to click so hard to stick where one
noticed his spine. so argued over freedom so many apparitions while hearing a
slight murmur. a bit too much a gift made zealous while we watch adjectives.
how to unsay the said how to go
against conviction while it never mattered, he was good?
I angled as a child I got ghost it
was years on the West Coast. I hit hood to hood I panicked to see a gage it was
days fraught by fury. or met a good person or asked a good question, to love
like animals – so close to marriage!
too much pain, as in guts, such raw
ass travail.
how to subsist in another’s agenda
with hell feeling like ghettoes? so impulsive like a damn child where he became
methodical – as too much to sing or indifference to soar while we select one’s
we adore.
I exit in anguish or angelizing a
scream if but to touch perfection – those musical skies while filled with fears
so close it aches to taste breath. an inner journalist a moving magazine at a
table filled by contemporary diaries.
