many
at anguish, remembering granny, those skies screaming, the filthy mood,
blighted inside.
early
morning, might snatch a glass, others, a joint, listening too closely—angels in
Los Angeles, cultural purple, so royal in our society.
saw
my mind, pushed boundaries, keeping focus, doing a wild walk; chirping at
birds, laughing with crows, swore to believe she was there.
many
at our brains, excellence is challenged, born first, finishing last; many at
parades, on stage, refaced, giggling, hurting harder.
moving
wings, knitting forgiveness, best do it inside, for pain is too rich to
forgive; rolling a five, crossed with a nine, crapped out with a seven. opened
with snake eyes, a quick hundred, came back on a four, hit a ten, a light
feather, got ghosted.
no
one quite figures—the emptiness, those pride songs, the singsong voice, the
wilderness, the last forest; caught his wires, changed his life, I’d never give
it that, wanting that, to have like that, until its coffin.
last
conversation, first words, palming a bag of screws—building sacred laws, most
internalized, dealing with resistance, can’t see it chumming.
an
empty glass, an empty feeling, amazing what we figure out; can’t rid it, too
sensualized, too far-fetched.
