I must survive as
sparked a cigar headed to the maze point. energy low, like eagles plucked,
still smiling. can’t tell, like partway grins, like Park Avenue pills. dreams
about winning, racing Downtown, Wilshire is filthy. heart beats into drumkits
too tribal for California. maybe not, roots into Natives, lions on guitars. I must
survive a graph re-mapped, sweet surrounding angel mist. to walk a dungeon,
angry enough, if to lie to self about survival. a soundless violin, as shown in
flesh, a mind screaming at traffic. like a revolution or deeper easiness, a man
ten years running—never stopped, never ate, only to collapse. as told to die,
barely breathing, screaming at twilight. a tear for the garden a tear for
flowers if not a tear for father—it means much, like a teddy to a child, like a
diamond to a wife—so involved in Sunday’s dinner. I spaced out, gazing at Orion,
fretting the coming graduation—as all must evaporate, dust to dust, ashes to
earth; lying to self, eating big illusions, it’s necessary to exist. [but] a
thin line, crossing into reality, feeling unsafe in absence—fretting existence,
seeing her as dangerous, all the while, needing a woman too gorgeous to sing. I
must survive if to see my soul if to hold like losing. too many agendas. too
much sexuality. touching bodies is a pastime. [but] a gunning man on the
California Ponderosa sitting and watching the Capitol raided—I know I saw a
noose! can’t fathom pain so
neat it categorizes the value of life—as rabid creatures exposed to rabid
philosophy as I must survive—shunned, eschewed, given to travel cacti, deserts,
a horse just chunked up its ghost.
I tread interior. I drink baptism. I lost the self-war.
