the dream becomes
vicious, against better odds, never treated with greater disgrace. it must
change, concrete rain, trying near an accordion. church life for church
struggles the tides are misunderstood. if what we gave is accordance to what we
receive, odds are something is uneven. purple puppet under a piano knit closer
to miseries—holding wires eating metal claiming love as a one-sided perception.
anger rises. one says the man is a fool, a person tolerates until it destroys
them, especially, in a dream without boundaries. a neat box, a walk-in
cedarchest, a grave with cartoons bouncing. a caricature, some drawing,
features remain distorted. each day is a breath. can’t stand closeness. can’t
believe when apart. to imagine many epithets like devilish lutes like a trance
from the underworld. just to placate. if but some sex session. if but to
convince of some dream. I get mad at things—like the way she loves me, the
slithering skies, the way she says good morning; the dinner she cooked, the
voice she held back, the way she chases for something permanent—in a cad soul,
in an anxious tomorrow, disgrace is on the table. count me in, celebrating
life, like a hot seven on a cold night. so amazed lately. listening to unevenness
lately. I wonder if most are pre-thinking lately? it seems fuzzy. [but] some are sharp, they refuse to
lose, especially, to a chap like me; at a chaplet a garland on a subtle prayer—those
eyes devastated those tears like ritual those beliefs—like where in hell
from? cars aligned for Sunday brunch. rolling from
South Bay to Hollywood. I sit rethinking assuming one put thought into their
message. often, affairs are
accidental, we just tripped—so to speak. we face our regions our demons with
tales told to promote tolerance. oil spills gas is flaming art is inability
towards truths. can’t let go,
want let go, still at fires at home tent. a camping bag a plate of sunshine,
like bringing out something contrary to the destruction it makes. one dream. fought for the dream.
abandoned by the dream.
