some eat shrapnel
some have patience most are pellets of interiority – fields full of life
symmetry left unbalanced rationale left behind – if but to live if but to
exist, a man coaxes his brains. by deficit to lean on attraction by
inadequacies to feel simplistic by absence I was here. we sat on a scarecrow.
we became crows. we listened to sublime mockery. I was clad in deceit or
dressed in shame more music more regret. a bag of problems a gallon of ambition
or so close we hate each other. a man spends himself in trying his wits where
life is one fading gallica.
to grapple at
walls or to eat worms, pure indecent delicacies; impatient art, whole pictures,
a gallery of images. if possible, I’ll love you, like a man asking for love – raw,
formless dolor, as improving vocabulary, nothing as beautiful as spirit filled
morosity. to imagine rights – if I protect you – you’ll be indebted, thus,
loyal … if but to our contract.
aside white snow
stands a black river filled with monkeys; next to a soul abed trauma lies our
last anxieties.
I think to
tomorrow a life without tension a world we create. some fable as a story one we
observe. as falling or swimming or unwet soaked in dreams. dry concrete with
memories or pure ambition. it’s unusual in time – a person with many flaws –
considered perfect in those eyes. it’s commodity it means so much, while we vie
for control. certain passion certain love, I promised concentration – those alleys
those cars surefire un-relaxation. by splendor of city blues at a bar to have
met one so distinctive.
a bit too numb, a
bit too many jamesias where we inhale looking for closure. as a last sentence,
as tempest weather, eating what was served.
