over the hectic
years, placing perspective, alighting trauma, hearse and grave; more winning,
more curses, mundane days; the fire of essence, made into bloodwork, a ghost in
her spine. sensual woman, gifted woman, like pain makes us sexual; the fight of
bulls, beautiful red capes, such danger in our cries. take the cemetery, role
play our art, muffle each scream; with knotted bellies, horrid guts, swimming
where people are addicted—such fierce love, such passing legacies, such
streaming to alleviate you. murmuring, cursing, begging like a snake in a pit;
torches and pockets, pants on fire, wonderful entrance, gripped and dying. too
much, too sensual, a person must be careful—as not disgusting, but just enough,
to ask for everything she protects. symbols of fierceness, signs of chaos,
symbols flushed, reddened, washing her back and chest.
over centuries,
chancing ships, chasing rainbows; moping mudslides, gritting tears, most hectic
centuries. coming back, too old to be young, too great to lose fame; arousing
sudden evil, gratuitous evil, so wicked it seems impossible.
lights flickering,
how else our ways, like church bells at 3 a.m.
so undone, so
close, it seemed guiltless—the rumble of the soul, the vibration of loins, like
towing her lungs.
most precious gem,
most romantic arc, but a belt wrapped around spirit. to chance in you the glory
of pain seduced by our reflections.
