I hear bass
scattered in pieces—should’ve been aborted; a soft sadness a caged life a
number of scandalous phantoms. [but] Love is great a realist it seems they act
differently—been with trauma, undefeated at survival, eating a bagel with
cheese. I float in an Oldsmobile, I bounce/rock/skate, it’s a good night. Love
is peeling an orange, a few, talking slowly. she needs affection,
understanding, a guarantee—a man under his earth, treading with worms,
slithering like snakes. abandoned to dysfunction, battling to make it
reasonable, like too many remnants hankering/hovering his shadow. (many won’t
tell you, so dark in its truth, they want to look/feel normal; they need
admiration, fairer exchanges, loving with powerful people. [but] so much pain,
terror apologies, as we don’t know what normal is! never our souls, as arriving
with reception, as knowing skies are in our favor.) it might kill us, having
love, looking for greener seas—as aborted but back, persistent, got dressed in
a lagoon. maybe I was a tadpole, a frog, eaten by an alligator; maybe I was a
chimpanzee attacked by apes, died horribly bleeding, ate, digested, made
refuse. Love listens. the point is this—we’ve no idea, we trade hassles,
chasing others is poisonous.
I hear virtue. it
oozes from her. she writes poetry then types poetry. she’s elegance, rain,
sadder understandings. she speaks meraki, pure excellence, she noticed a shadow—too
alone to ignore it, too determined to refasten mischief, too attractive to play
stupid. a few days at debate, a few weeks at pangs, a few months at gossip. her debut was glitter. a moving
upheaval. we sat, watched, walls remained illusions.
