the phone rings, a
falcon comes, aside an eagle. it’s raiding me it’s radical me like rage bottled
in skies. it’s raining I see ghosts I eat hope. Love is dynamite, sure fair
fire, like gunning at an apparition. too much drowning too much loving too much
to feel correct. I pause at courts, the country is screaming, the creek is
watching deterioration. I need to touch politely I ask permission she gets
upset. please into my life, pleading into my courage, a man is often given
dynasty. riding into sunset many seas a poet in a person dying. sweat is falling
sweltering physics so close it hurts. I ate my life I sat at pie I was lost in
a pleasant insatiability—a scent with peaches a feeling with pain a drained
sensation.
I felt troubled I was
laughing a woman noticed. she asked questions she got closer it was an aphrodisiac.
a shifting feature a louder gait or science applied to open closures.
so near it aches
so polite it destroys where we ask concerning intentions. a rough soul a major
whirl, so much beauty in most souls. a fragment of tomorrow, a sentence too
far, a person will rarely give but the benefit of a doubt.
listening to
myself, I sound ridiculous, whom would love like passing a sandwich? so
defensive without defenses, it seems most are unready. to hear thoughts on monogamy—a
person worshiping monogamy—where I argue against its inherence. a property
unlike chemistry, a fret over attraction, more a conscience decision. but I’ll
leave that alone. it causes friction. I’m written up like a damn problem.
it shouldn’t be so
delicate a man goes crazy. to be near ribs to have sensation to play pretend
like it never hurt.
