I heard an opus. the dream aside
Love, the bounty for Cupid. it might be uneasy—the rain in us, those months
with psychoses. much coldness around those lots, much uncanny occurrences
around those graves, much to be explained around the office. the split—the wrestling,
the soul in a guillotine: how to destroy the invisible? – through the bodily.
I warred myself. I lost.
spirit is swooping, it has stolen
into the courtyard, the fox is cunning. Aesop is the fable.
the garden has stories, a tree with
some fruit, a woman determined to survive with integrity.
an immortal literature—an immortal
element—the pain is throbbing: it flares into the countryside, a ransomed soul
is shedding tears, unbeknownst to her instincts.
holding iron, in the making of
nails, I shutter to feel those palms.
mulct of stability. hesitant at the
podium. upset with T. D. Jakes.
sincerity is pivotal, delivery is
paramount, a tender cry for pianos—a key seated in a citadel, a King aside a
lock, man requires his key to soar freely.
heads at the front. tails at the
back. make us the head and not the tail.
plurality in postmodernity, souls
and brains and flying into a chamber—the flint, the battle, the cave, the Vice
President.
I was foolish to believe it wouldn’t
destroy a part in me. I was nonsensical, wishful, to believe it would change.
many are holding to something needed, but quite impatient.
primate existence. first bones. all
I know—is why it would never be correct. many say it doesn’t matter—take what’s
before you, love the person, move on gracefully. I shy away.
the roulette game took his life. I woke
up. I said nothing. I still had taxes to pay.
