the
souls are walking, bouncing ankles, at top speed, those chopsticks those metal
voices, at a voicebox, at raw invisibility—dollars for thrills, a private room—with
a total stranger … so wild, such a squad, each team feels the same; partner was
speaking mess, another swerved, partner was shaking on concrete. I see it
swooping, the bigger picture, those that have, those that give, those that
need. I listen to lyrics, they give the spirit, some are quite vocal. it would
take ink, if to unlock her, it would take grime, sewers, the nastiest shit
against self. I’ve watched it. some are demented. with hell so close, how in bells
I hit the radar? Baby sexy! a true vegan. I asked a question. I was told an
answer. it’s crazy to read my reality. in truths, I made a mistake, most are
having a good time. so existential, too deliberate, with a strange ability to
stream on point. I take an idea, I stay with it, I unlock those kettles. I came
in on last. some writing their souls into dementia. they have much to prove. I tried
to hear her. the truth was this—he needs something, no one needs anything—some things
sound like nonsense. much remorse, I popped a bottle, the character filled with
traits—her love desired, her everything in billiards. fretting news, California
blues, he was, he ain’t, he can’t be. lots of nonsense. the biggest fear is,
dying without a story, told to humanity—without helping the kids, without
sharing secrets. no more kids for me. no more impetuosity for us. the race
interrogates: Why should I win?
