a room filled with
silence, a vein traveling ghosts—as time exploded amid skies. so easy to tread,
so lost to claim it, a feeling is a reason to believe—it hurts that way, it
kills tenderly, we mistaken a whale for our inheritance; like running against
sands, across shores, eating knapweeds—at harvest, it was marshweed, at courage,
it was pity, so unstructured with pure intentions—the blue in the blood, the
fever in the calmness, so much a kid riding the wavelengths; too metaphysical,
too much a child of prisons, born to a number of boxes. house rented, or home
sold, so many years we lived there; many trials, many curses, I swim in us—the cut
to the wrist, the feeling of the monster, the knicks to the thighs—like winning
is easy, to find a rhythm, the dance like rivers are abandoned—like an ocean
isn’t here, right in our quarters, so much to adore some stranger—the mind that
way, conjuring up ecstasy in locations, hoping to escape into a ready-made
paradise—it never happens, it requires work, the best of us are losing pianos.
a room filled with
appliances, an apple rotting on the dresser, the waters so rich, too pure, we
must learn to float. association at therapy, things leaking out, no man
forgotten! in decent time, to go easier, to live like gods are gambling—so struck
for essence, some lesson for pains, such love as we made it easy. rethinking
some lady, wanted this moment, this dance, to arrive at an emotion—to fry our desert;
surety hopes in love, needing one more than anything, so soft at trying to
arrive there—as it slips, we go for broke, it’s far too much to respond justice!
