the
jaguar is crying, surrounded by hyenas, she sprints, many skies, to witness the
camera flash; so alert to a parable, so many allegories, life as a pictureless
woman; bleeding to make right, listening to innuendoes, unable to please each
person. so sad to croak, such beauty to be embraced, watching each syllable in
her voice. battling with Satan, eating demons, an angelic curse. some force they
never measure, each thought has a reference, each allusion meant nothing in her.
a man is unsteady, unless otherwise, a woman is susceptible, unless otherwise;
much pain to be perfect, hearing bullshit, laughing in pain; a tear drops,
chuckling in panic, falling—no one quite understands—to be a soul, carrying his
own nightmares, with nothing physical to tag to. expletives want delivery, a
soul holds his crown, like making harmony is so damn difficult. so perfect, no
one believes it, it changes too often, it laughs with friends—the ghost inside,
a mini-fuse, an effusion late in his evening. the jaguar is safe, the marigold
bore witness, those daisies had a funeral to attend. much trafficking of
literature, much dishonesty, a soul lost his number one metaphor.
