by saying ‘pain’,
we agree to certain traits, by saying ‘anguish’, we might not feel the picture.
it resorts to pain, as universal, we hear it, we understand it, too much sets
us in limbo. a man hides his pain, a woman shares her anguish, no one
understands, despite, holding pain.
I won’t stress the
aforesaid, walking into disappearance, rereading scribbles, moods, impassivity.
a word for indifference, taking much for granted, living according to
chance—the rain mizzling the hail plummets the thunder is sporadic.
I have adored you,
in plain sight of you, it may hurt to loosen me, in order to see you.
places are
alphabetical. inertia is a spirit, an entity.
to be conscious/conscience
is to feel shame, to live a qualifying life. something takes place in sublime
creatures, which encourage a certain language.
holding heavy
hearts, heaving hounds, hungry for havens; to run from mirrors, to ignore
reflection, so much a gift to you.
battling
mentality, muscling integrity, with mimics inside our souls. galloping through
countryside, captured by images, capes torn asunder. the war of the faces, no
one present, we must learn to harness courage—to see the omen, to hear the
demon, such tactile invisibility. the pain of the giant, those games we used to
insist, the language of the miserable. aching with pride, reaching in, it
withdraws, the hurt we cry screaming for kindness. to know my tension, to irk
my death, to disconnect from my color. where and while the sun is implosive the
purported moon is tenuous, to arise in a mirage, nothing is absolute, nothing
is more than illusion—your face, your limbs, it comes to pass, no one is there.
how have I battled, in an empty land, filled with phantoms? how have I mingled
as unseen looking at mind projections? the rage of the endless/vacant world!
another thought of
you, some alien suffering, some boulder laughing. to hold your heart, to see it
beating, to close and open eyes—nothing is there.
