the mystic dream, the lavender
scent, the power, those wishes.
to tame a maniac, to partake of
insanity, it must be a bad ass group of women.
gorge on auras, or spirit-blood,
dripping-for-failing, alive an interior disaster.
the Sufi goddess, blank madness, tropical
forces; winded exports, inner glassware, terrified fires; men are dying, emotions
reborn, either sanity or slant by insanity—mistakes and clutter and inverted
messages.
eyelashes. your eyelashes, are
beautiful.
brain-core wars. a woman with
schizophrenia. a father made split dominions. another soul suffering from ten
levels deeper.
I heard a swami; liquor was
denounced, debt was universal, nicotine is the segue.
so Indonesian, cuddling a lemur, galloping
by soulprints.
to laugh out lungs, peering at derrière,
self-conscience, needing a sign of approval.
trust the reflection of agony, it
sings glory, it hurts to know an alteration in pains.
perfect cobwebs, a nest of
diamonds, breasts make men feel comfortable. it comes from infancy.
the curse is chasing, souls are
groaning, pantries are full of memories.
—the mystic muse, maybe only in
name, with medieval terrors, threating to become so beautiful—
anacondas strep the jungle, ponds
infested with bones, a soul will sit in fantasies.
we sense ourselves, attracted by
some fate, but it is simple to walk away; sweet biochemistry, laws of ecstasy, Zen
Buddhists making genesis.
blank woes, in a blank creek, an
emotional canal, a candent feeling.
