someone
is conscious of wings sore identity as a wild pain.
sadness
became beauty.
we
think a certain flame. (if I bring you joy, you will be loyal.)
if I could tell it, the shame, or ear-bites so attentive. (he never noticed he never made a big ado—until someone built Rome.) such shadows at midnight or disturbed come morning such dangerous attraction. (give it to intuition or paranoia so wild the way we distract each other.) a game of sociality while playing dodgeball with cravings like a hound in hell. (we built a house it was mortar-misery, most decided we live it out. so amazed by what we tell each other. where color is an issue.) as fathers, do we side with or against our daughters? if one is wrong, do we speak it, or better, if we see a pattern, do we suggest it? so much passion in her voice such tall terrors as forced to live it out. mind-marks, psychology anguish, would a man be in a rush to unstitch convictions?
many are housesitting, deranged in violence, never physical, mostly mental—at bays or laughing like dying so close to too alert — hypervigilant, suffering hypertension while sipping out of a mask. my birdsong my parakeet my dreams or goodness at some hating my guts. we side easily we need an entourage we dance partly afraid. we need rhythm they call it games where it must be a plot. psyche asylum, it gets too difficult, as putting solutions together that benefit all concerned. we chastise literature we ignore our behaviors some are screaming at their mirrors. such a bad state or so partial where most are looking to sail a bit further. life is a playground or seesaws are metaphorical while its difficult to outlive embarrassment. can’t depend on immortality, not as a scientist, we aren’t necessarily given infinity to get it right. some friend inside, a hell of a mystery, while even certainty is faced by doubts. popped a bottle or lit a joint or so wild it was unbelievable. scared myself, driving too fast, swerving at 3 a.m. made it home, sat in rain, such a cabin for too much aggression.
I repeated a path, a stranger’s
recipe, while wailing concerning never me! such ink-delight such ink-sorrow
where no one understands what survival goes through. to purpose life as to
repurpose life while forced to ignore a great tsunami. at a mailbox, looking
for a letter, but it’s temporary satisfaction. so refaced so debated while
speaking directly is such a hassle. a room filled with poison ivy. a town
filled with carnivals. or a mind reflecting a clown. such harlequins such
depictions as running into a dead zone. so much gas such revving as back at
square two.
