upon
early grayness, coals pouring in, it’s been painful; some bland explanation,
courage to awaken, felt for furious, framed in successes, too inferior on the
inside.
hold
the ropes, loosen the noose, return me to paradise; so convoluted, one never
knows, beyond hopes, expectation, crimes against self.
if
more warriors, more fiats, wild ways we ignore authority.
some
person, red hair, auburn trims, angry, dying, so much in my soul—to have lived,
like three months, perceived as a stillborn; the rage burns, lemon-blonde
angst, suffering more love.
without
those tales, life would be empty, giving one person tension, tasers, tattoos—grief.
wanting
so much, to enter so softly, pure gentility in mad folks; woman of the piccolo,
man of the flute, eating dates, conversing all evening.
amazed
how we suffer, needing gentility, so rough around edges.
hurting
in spaces, melancholic auras, so low it felt tender; to have depression, to
tend to reality, to push to touch sunlight; so murky, so proud, clashing with
attraction;
or
angry, too much, to actually taste/face another soul.
