ruined milk, rice bread, and a vision to manage a legacy. to sew
an empire with pain under her nails screaming something about American
Oxygen. the theft of amazement, the value of losing, if but a friend to
win. the beige Yankee, the throwback classic, much rain into a diamond, and to love
is a penalty—it should be a miracle. so charged, enlarged at birth, many
chasing, cursing, and blessing my genealogy; all held in mercy, maniacal genetics,
gears motion into a galaxy; at the boneyard, near the Bonehouse, such
slaughter, such solace, looking at her became quite painful. so lost, so many
images, needing to believe the stranger is the soul to adore me—shot and
bleeding, a friend cupped my fluid, like hell in arms to associate with a virus
executing dear legacies. a gulf between us, a garb for Jesus, to gasp at a
woman so pure in the final leaf stack. at the peak of the skies, the skyline in
leaking, the soul is on a plate; they eat me, they drink me, i give it to
Christ. brushwork to flypaper, fleeing is a challenge, i saw a naked perfection,
i saw a woman too glow to be my solace. the taste of sweat, the teasing of
matrimony, would you worship union until the grim-reaper pops up? the haunted
house, the haven hell, the healing hex—so touched, so torn, too special, too susurrous,
the last of a lenient legacy. complete holy satire, the unclear clarity, the
relocated sameness. if to die in those walls, to adore like living is illegal,
doing a hundred mile per hour on the 10 east.
