I sit with windows
as lit in indigo splayed so cut thrust into precious music—she would die with
pain so alert again as never more a sensuous believer. I gut my intestines her
voice is purple, it’s early morning. I reverse heat I shoot heat I laugh in
tears. it made me mad looking at each other, holding global(s) inside. a galaxy
for you, a penalty for you, I was raw unbelief for you. those lines they mean
too much so sweet so evil a man dying on himself. over an apricot pulled away
as not to ruin a shirt—those eyes screaming, so in fraction, it’s never
our fault. a cave bleeding a petroglyph with us as in our empathies. a dead
feeling is a bad feeling like killing her goodness. humans seem differentiated.
we take to situations. it might mean more with another. so kind, we never see
it, like boiling noodles. a pen crying at ink devastated so much I wasn’t on
gates. so hard so easy so much vulnerability. a man is naïve a woman is naïve, something
is hungry inside. a pathetic man, a pathetic lover, I need to feel Jesus—those hips,
those legs, those breasts, they mean nothing without feeling Mary. many years
as a rapid voice, so cursed to have met, it was predicated on aggression.
humans seem differentiated. so split asunder. many those paths we endure.
I was amazed
lately. a promiscuous genius outside. just wanted to tell of a rare Love. a
coat aside a furnace. a jug amid some wafers. our minds probing authenticity.
years gunning
pain. alert to skies bending. waxing like dying to live. a mouth of music. a
game of abuses. finding is alike to keeping. a battled man is a crazed man, it
might take an electric friend. rushing to see angels. ravished by existential.
pausing to find Abigail.
I sit with
windows, a pair of glasses, a skylight—laughing at it, filled with remorse, but
pleased by fruition. a complicated winner, a losing pianist, at drums a voice
from Greece. never asked. never needed more. given more confirmation. a person
must ask, is it for me, or has the liaison become more than exploit?
