I graved the ice, bleeding in mud,
crawling, fucked up. the damage of the birds, the winds winnowed, the pain like
Jesus—mention me, speak his guts, I kept to a code—survival baggage, the trashbins’
life, Baby too damn fly. I ached, rolled a seven, behind walls, running
terrors, just heard the shot. to awaken, so near a future, like years late:
such behavior, it’s natural, fucking like wild kangaroos. a soldier at it, a
warrior in the makings, just graduated into penalties. get lost, get game, it
never went as planned—I believe as far as I can see; murdered minds, serving at
a curb, concrete jungle life. gambling all night, too tipsy to see, struck on
an eleven—Rolex pains, Bugatti hopes, a bad ass machine for love: to see it in
ways, if hell, she must be the damndest. I step over gods, I pause for the
goddess, I remember being younger—laughing without suspicion, gathering berries,
so aloof, so close, like a sufferer of PTSD. momma on a quest, father rolling
to Texas, uncles never came around. so gorgeous, so sly, so sick with insanity;
the bone of the sphere, the gristle of the earth, at problems, the arteries of
the atmosphere. so sad at the pond, feeding greedy ass ducks, looking at a
symbolic swan—asking questions, so inside of self, Love too damn rich for
experiments; most adore their own, but opposites attract, we never know when
one sees goodness—in souls, in arts, in a squirrel on a bad day.
