I saw a picture. I gazed into it.
surprised by
my inclination.
you’re a picture. a mettlesome
fire.
I don’t desire to fall for a
picture.
sweet bassline pain. undercurrent blasé
love.
just utter sole destruction.
like a squirrel in misery. he knows
humans.
he feels trapped.
he needs love, a squirrel with ink,
with
feelings.
the castle upon a hill, it was
passion, I arrived,
it disappeared. the picture is a
mirage.
I need a mirage. please lie to me.
the fruit
in deception—something tender.
where would love be without
exaggeration?
she was in mahogany, eyes made
withering,
wafting in energies, aloft a pain,
into a
problem—teeth made of porcelain, eyes
fraught by cocaine, blouse so thin.
I want the picture—like dingoes
starving,
like famine in Egypt, like a dear
solution.
