series
of plyers, tugging at bolts, a sudden invention—those agricultural eyes, those
architectural hands, so fused, abused, loosing gravity.
I
kept running, until I slowed down, I looked at myself: hatchet in hand, foaming
at life, filled with ignorance. I spoke gently. I asked forgiveness. the me in
me lays dormant.
subtle
bulbs. delights in living. failures in relations. abashed inside, gunning at mirrors.
reformed inside.
just
a glimpse she gave. it was pain before sorrow. it was love before
investigation. curved souls, aching soldiers, legs bending, knees buckling,
upon The Road to Damascus.
light
too awesome, vision struck, looking for help.
I
come to myself, having converse, I do it to survive; taking inventory,
readjusting perceptions, at love to exhale in self.
souls
of fury, flaming through worlds, pushing through innuendoes.
so
delicate, so rough, tasting life, many publications, eerie inside, at a gala
laughing with contagion.
I
was affected as a kid, I was brainwashed as an adolescent, I came to realize,
true assessment comes from the gut.
series
of inquiries, bold brown shrines, pleading understanding, locked out of
humanity, unable to shed armor.
