the treasure is over mountains, the blood is blue, the sun is purple. Love in anguish, so gorgeous, like a foolish pride. so southern in mannerisms, many need roughness, so core it’s concrete. out of time, shedding as it drops, the song might kill me; at warmth with one, at allergies with another, at voltage with insanity. gentle skin, cushioned hips, bleeding a fortune—of horses, helium, like a kite on waves—the brown is essence, the black is torn apart, the misery of carrying antipathy. I pour into an aqueduct, I melt into a conduit, I come back as an Egyptian, a reservoir—begging my Fountain, erased from color, redrawn, pulled into color—a pictureless/faceless man, it goes deeper, a man defined before eyes laid claim to his disease. towns screaming, mother coming up—she leaps the ocean, she rages for her son, she dies, her eyes bleeding my name. a vampire, it was too much, so reborn, a tragic sun, a mighty moon—hellos running, they tiptoe sands, the shore is filled with carnage. it’s been me, restructured, like a leopard becomes a ghost, running through California, losing parents, everyone has died. no one in this room, no one to aid me, running piggyback on a legacy—a Louisiana soul, so deep down south, we don’t make losers—the bread with wine, the apparition at my heart, so far across the other side. screaming at Jesus, more unreality, so determined to outwit doubt—so refocused, waltzing typology, at a dear rage—the torture of the beauty of the tragedy of the storm—
