molten pride, melting inside, I speak
from interior. too much infighting, most seem angry, if to meet a gentle person—it
becomes alarming. I mused upon a dragonfly, feeling like a roadrunner, so
triggered by condition—if to reappear to my mirror.
at gatekeepers, wondering about
mastery, lenient enough to accept differences.
high and wild, looking at a portraiture,
headed to a catacomb; drinking raw water, fire-verse, at a funeral in an empty
room.
so inexact, but it works!
made it easy, became stoic, inside
of skepticism. so exotic with rain, so afraid of intimacy, nay, of mental
exhaustion. something epistemic, something existential, I speak from interior
agitation; a new garment, internal flame, a soul gathering goosebumps.
was it life in us—guzzling new
wine, eating torque?
over a snakebite, ran to a scorpion,
mom was like shake it off.
somewhat in awe, over a shoebill,
where nothing is felt—as it becomes automatic. I grab grapes, hit a winepress, I
wake up furiously; like a dirty soul, filled with filth, loved, left with an antic
obituary.
associated with powerhouses, at
godship, most never speak it. a light at my door, life at my loins, misery at
my lungs.
once at motion, loving her eyes, at
my interior walking to shore. over bluegrass music, treading outskirts, like
damn it seems difficult.
eucalyptus sprinkled on god-seed, to
strew an African garden, with Jerusalem becoming psalm ink.
