Monday, November 22, 2021

The Sails Are Cast

 

I take sail, engage a filthy habit, light a candle. darkness hovers, it was ever darkness, upon an infant wish. candent humans, raised in battlefields, listening to intentions—the cold breeze, afore ocean shores, remorse feels inevitable. I often complain. complaining isn’t good. I do it, nonetheless. a person is coarse, terse, unapproachable—sirens wailing, an ambulance outside, a remark, a careful non-reply.

 

I take sail, engage a pure thought, beauty is bedded in perception—inner affection, typing into receptors, many visual strata.

 

I would desire comfort in foreign arms

taking refuge in innocence, or pain.

I would cherish hazel-brown chastity

alike to certain screams, meant opalescent.

a fledgling in essence, deceived by self

chasing images; bold tenderness, felt

imbalance, never satisfied, nor joyed.

 

I take sail, sparking my life, chiseled into something metallic—warm refrigerators, oatmeal pudding, mind aching, deposits. if running to beauty, dead in my eyes, refurbished, with olden wood; the stench of the trail, the forest in delights, made mutual disgusts—as creatures made lambent, as pensive souls, upon a wistful horizon, to have died in resurrection—sweeter cornfields, a jovial cotton time, too much firewater, a morning headache.

 

I take sail, grounding out sensitivities, made fierce against wishes, smelling baked biscuits, bacon, coffee; too wild to slow down, too slow to catch up, many dim lights, aphoristic curses, inverted axioms—opposites making kindness.

Time was Brief

    With deeper allure—to ward off ghosts—melancholia is an empire. Such dialogue confuses—: one wrestling despair. It was remote living, in...