intense tart
melody—fields of jamesias—wounds from mishaps; I change clothes, I unclothe the
clothesline, I try to bury business—as pertains to lies, as underdogs cry, with
pain so romanticized.
begging isn’t
automatic, as graphs plead otherwise, trying too much alarms sensitivities. I anger.
it passes. I can’t fathom the woman esteeming me. so different, so charged, but
she adores me—the fire of Neptune, the seduction of
Venus, our bones
becoming our aches.
trying hurts,
rewards are topaz, weird how we can’t accept each other.
if to care for tolerance,
if but to alter personality, as molding one we no longer love. I was singed
inside, I’d never cherish pain, coming around on a sled. mother watched. I slept
daily. I couldn’t eat baked witnesses. a flame in essence, the botanical
garden, the Japanese Wisdom; restored, laughing, feeling embarrassed, to hear a
phone ring; the other disappeared, one feels low, “I just need a friend.”
put me in storage,
I accept all rules, a farm in me; the love lesion, those wilder lemurs, at
literature in monkeys; yes, so frightening, as to sense something, while I’d
prefer, we figure it out. preaching is obliterated, loving is crucial, tithes
are under suspicion.
seeing one, looking
like origami, forgetting human complexity.
the guard in me
needs the guarantee in sights, with passion under intension.
to imagine so
sophisticated, so deliberate, a wilder man would pre-his-life.
