ink is dripping, pens are
empty, the trashbins are full. writing is a habit, those delicate cries, into
timing the silence. brass knuckles to sentences, like waves to seas,
inseparable, overwhelmed, ceaseless beginnings. blueness in jazz, feelings
running, I’ll never see time unveil. more stargazing, eating ashes, incarnate
as a phoenix—the dying in temperature, the angst of the pencil, an eraser for
the challenge; hearts croaking, fingers to big business, lovemaking seeming
cultural; so close in those moments, so enflamed it must be, so indistinct, so
impartial. by a smile, broken in bulbs, tiny fiberglass in my palms, those days
are countless.
religious
science, religious independence, as worship seems necessary—in some capacity,
into some building, down steps, aside a staircase, next to a cotton dungeon.
made with bright, brimming lenses, made effulgent fire, sweeter cadence—there is
none.
I palm a relic nail, I have
thoughts, I ignore what becomes of deepness—looking at mother, a day in an
asylum, like a week in self, needing guidance at her side; my sin is my dynasty.
feeling like a soulquake—I ask for clarity—why have some
become angry?
enough with senses, enough with understanding, I must put
goodness to use.
some people watch. they
have skills. they determine, with approval, what baggage gets through the
checkpoint. they live surreal lives, they remain starlit souls, they have an
issue with sharing. I claim baggage. I live in a dreamlike state. I believe in
interior happiness: jars of sugar in some people, excellence in others,
feelings going deeper into latrines—one lantern, one shovel, collecting golden
nuggets.
I
am a problem, a good person, a problem. many are like me, stressing balloons,
flying kites, holding to a code of honor. assertive in time, passive in
essence, watching as many take an issue. judged according to a song, it dwells
in my quarters, it represents a portion of my life. another played my CD
player, he put my song on repeat, now, he says he knows me. play the song, don’t
confuse crosspollination, I could never become the song.
