loan
me your lies, ‘til I become indifferent, ‘til I awaken from dear slumber.
the
math is digits, I rum suspiciously, human behavior is unusual.
so
close to rawness, so indebted to laws, so spectacular those eyes—spinning with
concern, tears falling, begging, if but to return—to heavens, made vicious, over
language, another must reap.
what is actual, factual, unconditional?
I
laid concerns to blurry kites. I buried much of my innocence. something altered,
something taken, no stranger to clown faces.
most
wonderful soul, in a grown man’s world, swirling in circles—made dizzy, aching
inside, too addicted to release hell.
most
wonderful spirit, words meaning something, so embarrassed, so frightened to
lose—a hand full of cries, negotiating inside, so talkative, so silent.
I
keep skiing, at a high bungee jump, flurry, as felt, floating in slow motion.
so
comfortable with discomfort, accruing depression, where true joy might look manic.
