I’ve
seen, dreamed, and screamed women as existence; never sold coldness, so bad
ass, so demented, so destroyed—by beauty, by pain, filled with stimulants—rivaling
souls, too much for a novice to achieve, more enough for a thug to seduce. I can’t
claim it. I was at war. I couldn’t see. I’m ever at some dumb ass war, most
significant, as to announce, wailing, scratching, begging, so fucking aloof. I saw
silence, nonchalance, then, bam! some might fathom. I lit it back. Sitting in
private. Some stranger in my fucking soul. I imagine the rage, the fucking
pain, how in hell it remains, it gives, it is source of all discussions. I can’t
claim it. Heaven enters cities, towns, regions, flaunting terrifically, never
smiled, so detached, it feels like mystery, and, bam! A casual look, a gesture,
true seduction, not merely fucking! I will! I will not! I must! So deep into an
aura, analyzing how hips look after birth. Wondering if, or if not, what hath
muscles stronger than never a soul to birth thunder? I disappear. And bam! I will
give a secret, please listen, one on concentration, and bam! Another, complete silence.
I went back … have we studied strategy, subtleties, what I do, what I do not
do, what I include, what I omit? So calm, it becomes violence, so seduced, some
measured, to ask, and be told, “I never knew you—go away!”
