one triangle, one eye, two brains, two
oppositions. language is hard to decode, gestures are mocking, derision is a
soul. by an intense water pour, by a poor society, going so deeply, he inverts;
lavender woman, so indistinct, so proud, so hurt. the villain as attraction,
the fuse as lit, the allegation as churning—the bluegrass seas, the biggest
whale, while over yonder, I would ask for what others can’t give. take my
place, take the rain, so baffled, on knees, on skies.
weeping inside, rougher flints, feral
wolves, friendly demons; to have given all, to have seduced inner chambers, to
have met her ghosts; like terror is sweet, eating cod fish, fingering hush
puppies—the battle of ribs, a gut torn asunder, truth seeming so delicate: it
comes to divide, destroy, create destruction—and souls call it meek.
I wouldn’t want you if it wasn’t so
curiously offensive—the lust in stars, those rivers through scars, so adrift—as
a chemical—while what we do—most need others to placate.
I could see acting out of turn, needing to
do research.
some new grain, she felt alive, to side
before investigating.
it will hurt, if and only if, a soul is
honest with the person inside.
I have no qualms. I see horizon in
burgundy-orange. I climb stairs to evaporate.
so treasured as a goddess—no one saw its
incipience—at times (unto self)—a person sees more of what might become.
