lights flashing, sirens blaring, a
man’s arm is way off—more riots, aside a zinnia, flowers bearing witness. a
whit tipsy, looking at excitement, feeling life slipping through music. a soul
loving its pain, a feeling like buck this pain, a soul living its
contradiction—by a paradox, by an algorithm, many allegories in Plato’s cave.
down winds, myrtle trees, cyder
liquor—many Bugatti(s), baguettes leaking, so high in havens feeling
estranged—most under rain, most debating blackness, a mulatto trying to
recharge identity. at an occasion,
such fire in a white woman, we sense things alert differently. seduction is
optional, sheer attraction is lethal, when each response feels like summaries;
a hired hand, a wired spirit, Love knew angst prior to exile. I’ve said nothing, game is eager, too foul
to fit in society. an anti-religion, became a proactive religion, so cultic,
like winning, a man baptized in Arabic. we pray again, slipping through thighs, too
gorgeous, so grimy, like losing wasn’t an option. we hear what we select, we
feel what seems a mystery, how to reflect without skills? a house of children, a ghetto antenna,
rugs displaying something inconsiderate.
a soul so brave, so smart, to disgrace everything sustaining her
sanity. most addicted, like deserted,
a person too much to council. more flames, more souls, never ached like this.
it shall pass, it shall die, with memories inducing physical sensations; a
little too much, our predicament, to meet something/someone giving mysticism
its challenge. more drugs, if but to
live, it gets hard to battle—many fledglings, several categories, with rumors unbuckling
concrete. so much a magnet, so internal, a soul feels his resistance
flitting. too damn fine—looking at a
sinner, needing therapy.
