sundry problems
while calm overheated by misprints. those convenient assessments those black
eyes inside social blackdamp. use of beating hearts a field of cabbage or
flatness seeming settled in. the borderline those pipe houses as one falling
into a firehouse – the days are for soldiers these stripes are meant for
survivors while a soul was just abandoned – a little soul a maimed soul a soul
trying hard to believe in ideals – the gravity of webs so much a dying drum
while beating nonetheless; wilder vines into aching signs as one a dozen would
try to harm. those eyedrops as filled with misery so shocked – we communicate
through melancholy: an itchy blade a grain of sand or sea music. we must break
freedom, there must exist goodness, we must locate our missing sentimentality.
so uncultured so much a missing identity if but to taste a hint of this land –
as a frontier or a pioneer on lines meant for casualties. to see bodies to cry
wilderness to eat a jaguar. too convinced those scars where we believe worlds
are wicked; a bashful identity a screaming malaise at cages in grief affronted
by miseries – those yelling clouds those small havens while hell is a pack of
vicious hounds.
warrior
orientation, for this is life, a travesty on repeat. oaken graves or promised
worms where bugs crawl through eye sockets. aside a matchbook next to a lit
cigarette sits a cockroach. its tentacles are wiggling. it’s waiting to feel a
vibration. we were told they cause asthma. a ghetto farm, over a broken horse,
we must put down existence. so fair at our best, begging for clarity, given a
gift no one is accepting. each to their thoughts. for much isn’t destined
anymore. so cramped in this coffin. to please our minds to appease our adversaries
much a combination.
