when we say, “turned up,” we mean soul, as
excited, like living is beautiful—painful—to remember a friend dying a horrible,
tragic death.
the fire has been left for ignitions. the
heart is ruined. no one can understand it.
I adore when it strikes. I live in fury. I
loved it like innocence. it’s cold inside, the face has muscles, a last drink for
Rah. Spur was illicit, to elicit, like mountains in a small dungeon—the field
flaming, guns dropping, I know blackness can do it. dear soul—it’s hectic, I need
us, with mazes to fire through. aiming at myself, checking myself, laughing
feeling goodness.
on the same page, like a friend would die,
if eye to eye redeeming character.
words were passed, patience ran out, we
feel too human to let go. blackness dying, blackness getting rich, a torch for
Basic.
it was too unorganized, abrupt, too much
on a few shoulders—the pain was essence, the pendulum was haywire—too little
dialogue, no guidance, momma strung out asking for a quarter … like a damn
joke, listening to elders, visiting the hospice, like dying is coming.
a puppet in America, a knot in my belly, I
sweat blood.
place a padlock on it. who leaked the
combination, who gave away the key?
I sit in sobriety, eyes leaking, holding
more to carry for the future. I hear his anger. I see his aura. he had something
to say. they ignored him … behave or die … daddy waiting for me.
scarlet karma, souls on bricks, the
pyramid haunting me. mother a good soul. mother a dead soul. mother will never
die.
I smashed out, doing my mileage, all to
myself—never an accomplice, never my business, anything serious is left to
silence. let the spirit answer me. kilowatts calling. the phone out-rang itself.
murky water, we added bleach, it was clear enough to make a decision. on
integrity, father as a maniac, great-father a lieutenant, future mother a
nurse. I’ll appear again in 2090.
