writing
was foreign to screams. the alphabet was alien to blacks. I took to both at a
risk. Phoenician arcs, made quicker through Plato, made conscious through King
Jr. of course, many have come, many have died, we never celebrate revolutionaries.
a mere mention summons a beast, a mere thought infuriates spirit, an art
dreamer will die daily. Sappho is art, Ida is pains, Oprah is misidentified.
such a lucky soul, floating through screams, a hundred faces gnawing each
other. so senseless, so on point, so defused. I read much on the topic, lost
mother, never understood the legacy; a seed with insight, a battle inside, like
women—either rudimental femininity, or something questionable, where both are
wailing for authenticity. a man is similar, running amuck, desiring the affidavit
claiming his honor. a running man is a found man, so lucky, so unlucky. I read
Maya, I just finished Jericho, I admire how spirit moves, it cries, it’s under
skin, advocating bloody sunshine—the trickle of winds, a gust in trees, some
presence as a man looks up. I scratch a feeling, I unpraised helium, I’ve been
Sunday sacred. can’t recant it. can’t find it. a man will be trapped by
verbosity. a woman must trek a fence-wire, must die to win, only to loosen
closer ties. such mathematics, a casual address, looking like loving is
uncertain. what is given? what is gained? if only we knew how conversations
work.
I
read something on Poetica. I was astonished. forgive the exaggeration.
most
watch words, once trained, before then, one is a societal buffoon, a clown, a
crying shame.
I
sense in me a person living, hungry as lions, at Daniel’s cave.
not
much for what comes out. need to concentrate more. been pushing for it, got
close to it, an interruption came. been at irritability, listening closer,
forgive the over usage.
so
abandoned to life, popped out without a yelp, doctor thought something was wrong.
soothing,
melodic, Medusa music. loud silence. more time to adjust. I lived it, I live
it, a cultural thing. trials in tribulations like growing into a wall.
the
Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.
alive
with sorrow, at drinks with misery, core with peace, serenity, a treasure sober
right now.
