all I
know are arguments, inside walls, outside of excellence, the pain, by the root,
so much stigma, eyes too open to see. drowning in cedar crosses, platinum rain,
acidic beauty—the pantomime pavement, those corridors shattered, the edifice
springing, a soul seeks salvation, nothing less from salvation. terrified
beginnings, ambivalent ass survival, long into the right mood; if garnered,
like venom seeping into flesh, so saturnine, made serpentine. it was on hiatus.
those blurry ass skies. a spirit tries so damn hard. to be in trenches, pitted
against vampires, wolverine playing keepsakes. too much to believe. a soul
becomes a cult. communication so afar no one would support that. speaking of
disbelief, so concentrated, watching how it’s designed—so much jealousy, in
most souls, we don’t mean much harm. so amazed to meet someone, fully
activated, flying into orbs, so grounded, too explosive to concede. much the
flames inside, the house in there, the falling towers, as rebuilt, so many
gathered at ground zero—the hope the concern the fathers the mothers—now Covid-19,
facing the nightmare, many vindicated too readily.
