recommitted
to innocence such badness in me, I look different than the kid in me. I hold a
grudge I kill self I was rolling doing 50 mph. I was a ghost I was damaged I look
at humans differently. so unfair while fairness doesn’t count, plus, God is
amoral. it doesn’t mean much it dances in winds the trees are bleeding memories.
I ate sap I walked through blueberries I drank wild-berries. such raspberry wines
such grapes with joints so fresh forever feeling like dying—those blue eyes a
different orientation so much attracted against science. a damned soul at caves
held in contempt. up against trains running tracks sitting on brick. to understand
pyramids to fret a curse, plus, Love is two months pregnant. I hit old
junkyards. I find an old couch. I find a moment to smoke—more feelings more
uneasiness aside a pile of razors—the gut shaking those gears for succession so
many damn voices—as spread out, such ghetto advice where most make decisions
based in anger. an eye for an eye. or a cheek turned. or a madman bent on vengeance.
I evaporate sipping longtime such respect for underdogs. I wanted something. it
was pure to me. but it was filthy. some argue with me, I vow to
classifications, while rugs are lower than settees. I watched the pain a true
fact most don’t know their classification—looking or lusting so much a frown
like hatred builds homes. no justification even a pair of cuffs, still deciding
on innocence. “If they knew, this deep misery, they would condone my actions.”
it hurts to hear it, but if it isn’t up-close—most don’t comfort it. I was bent
when it happened such riches as asking for entrance. so much into being
located, around a system, puffing a Newport. it gets worse, a woman quite
different, asking for unlimited trust. I trip off folks so unworthy but angry
as hell. (we know and it hurts while one is still a good person.) so abased
today so insidious but contained so dangerous for intelligence. we can’t miss
it, can’t escape it, most are bad angels. searching for divergence, or diligent
creatures, at terrible frustration. such convergence they remember an old one
while credit is taken before earned. music in pity so pathetic while still
praised. a parrot on scripture, a dear concrete literature, while a block away
from an issue. no one is me, I am no one else, I love to hear our cosmos.
tripping at asylum a face filled by phantoms while rules drop through ceilings.
