when I began, it
was grout in his veins, gut-wretched screaming, pure morosity; I was part dead,
couldn’t make good, time was mockery, blood diamonds, all of Africa after me.
when have
scoundrels died—in deeper order—to sustain inner peace?
language of the
beasts, collapsing, unsung, another shall not be immortalized. heaving up
vomit, trying to stop the pouring, wheezing, looking around, it can’t be
shared.
rosary eyes,
cloister palms, the inner monastery; talking roughness upon self, demanding different
reality, losing what was never connectivity.
my art in me,
those winds as streaming, purer intuition. a lady as a nun, never made vows,
feeling like ruined. take it. take it now. take range, gut, ghosts—the rain; to
skip into town, to cause a rift, a soul split in twain; parts for
manufacturing, serene detachment, fated with sin/faith, pain, nonetheless.
much polarization.
many miles away. touched again.
to become what I have
chased, to meet stronger souls, so keen to facts—too distant for it to
register. one says, “Just change, try harder, make others know you care.”
another says, “Some are observant, they see things differently, they do more
feeling than talking.” indeed, we say decent things, many are gregarious,
others see life through the hurting. a sad understanding, a rich intimacy, for
one can see more.
—for years the
silence was remarkable, the inner aggression was pluvial, interior
mind-prints were picturesque, stately,
filled by aesthetic—I learned language to
identify gravity—sure waxing anger,
deeper confidence, cultic grins. they
can’t take one’s pain, they will
discard it immediately, they will walk
with a flashlight
flickering at signs. they will prove you.
