trials,
tribulations, they’ve made me this way—the pain of the broom, the janitor
mourning, the dishwasher in Louisiana.
a
plank to walk, too many touchy topics, the bullet into art; much a winner, too
much a loser, with great phantoms buzzing in winds.
the
splendor of the vision, the chemistry in brains, I must let live! unbolted. re-screwed.
like
rain, I must de-lo-cate.
so
formless, creating form, a few know, I speak of God.
a
broken pipe, a cello in bane, like poison is heat.
the
theologian at his guitar, the written books, the drawing board.
so
guileless it hurts, so deceptive like pain, the music is always in-between. I would
fathom her, much mischief to get her, so taken by romance.
the
shattered spider, sucked by life, made neat and sat on my desk.
soft
memories, a sugar-drop, too hungry to ignore fasting.
taken
for a ride, a decent spirit, to attempt healing; drawn, but aloof, tragic but
peaceful, too much for actuality.
seated
by redwood, a friend from high school, his brains in his mother’s lap. so
terrible, strung out, eating mushrooms.
I carry
cargo, I live in wilderness, I don’t fathom the wires.
pure
condition, would bring us closer, if to meet 30-years ago.
budding
like orchids, at life like origami, so specific in Asian studies.
I want
to say something, it can’t be said, because it’s not eternal.
I have
a problem, if I say, “I love you,” it must be meant above all others—all of
existence—all of passions—all of life.
so, against
confidence, I would never hurt you, I need to believe that!
some
pictureless soul, at pictureless pain, trying to convert inmost art.
