more
in me—I see excellence—so fast asleep. watching feelings, eating mud, too much
to rinse. bile might erupt, weeds may sprout, inner parachutes must be in
place.
I
see bars, pianos, mandolins, cue sticks, fathers, pans, butter. a shrew zips
by. squealing ensues. a dream has become animated.
willing
you. screaming you. how else do two fall in love?
sad
violins. muse music. I imagine too much. I lost excitement, I became dismal, I
can give what I inherit.
rain.
dirty sewers. filled with trash.
I
was homesick. one fancies loyalties. it seems unreasonable how minds can work.
bitter acrimony. lascivious repulsion. needing approval. dice in midair, hoping
on five senses, rebuked by insanity.
I
never tire of thinking. I never ask for much. I pass by come across as doing it
in my disappearance. I don’t distress a visitation. I greet. speak pleasantries.
disappear.
spacey
eyes. droopy, pouty lips. in us with ropes. tugging. laughing. fraught by
anguish.
only
as good as you only as alive as chemistry, only as much charisma as my depression.
are
we front page, open diaries, or back page, frontal poses?
yeast
from wine. itching a bit. pausing to gain clarity, stopping inside, glancing at
insecurity, remembering a Syrian delight.
no
matter what a man says, a woman follows instinct, passion, attraction, or
survival. one might ask many questions, a great spokesman, a terrific
excitement—pain is delicate, it chances rubies, it becomes sick over something
intangible.
I
will never feel secure, activity will ensue, a thinking creature is a trained
creature. it will not be romance, outside of doubt, with campaigning seeming a
short duration. one will do as it seems pleasurous. one will live plurality.
one will hold what seems joyous. so many calibers, chambers, cabinets—too many,
as we try a feeling.
