to
imagine dripping liquor, like bodies drip sweat, at sexual pleasure, laughing
goodness, playing banter, a high so smooth. bad ladies, tripping pain, living
like games are laws—so perfect, just a friend, it amazes—so precious, made into
noontime displays. I disappear, skip topics, a plaintiff in Life’s Case. the
building is ruined. the brains are pathological.
I
keep disturbance managed, I guess!
many
would say, “It’s too in order, it must be beavers, eating his guts.”
like
a rubber band, it kills, feeling this way—yours, all good, mines, too filthy,
like a hypocrite; baggage in souls, problems like angst, never so close to
something imperfect.
I
need the bad one, like an alcoholic, popping pills, with her brains on steady—a
contradiction, speaking philosophy, living her existential, giggling when I hit
a funny bone.
big
paper. kites out midsummer. kids running, playing spirits, so original. I lost
that, no one gave a care, I kept jogging—flipping, resistant, looking at
myself—more ghosts in seas, less oceans in eyes, most can’t tolerate being
observed.
Raphael
art. Manet or Monet. a woman has a name, sweet fiery juices, like pudding
wrapped in golden walls—a deeper perspective, a furious, fighting, feral woman;
uncut. raw heroin. her soul is most dangerous.
many
insidious pains, up with a gleam, made obo—looking at dusty webs, conversing
with a leaping spider.
