invest in sanity. livid over the
last climax. what’s on my name? what have i done? no more than surviving. tell
me, its love, a jazzy guitar and late-night murmurs. let me see dancing,
waltzing, agriculture—into heart-pearls,
all day infused, by freedom and ruse; becoming detached was agony, most call it
by gelid allusions, southern indifference. left everything,
restarted in life, most were
impassive to that—to let go, to have anxiety—so low on confidence—just needing
acceptance. i was what I censured; the cynosure was imperfect—
it tripped a wire. becoming a
tactic. becoming an issue. tugged in and pulling away. so irritated. needing
innocence. giving condemnation. many facts are to surface, remain
dormant, such latent explanations.
to decide to be vulnerable; to seem sincere; with worries over souls that haven’t
wings. by the value of the stars, so saturnine, such conflicting
feelings. as agitations, in a small
world, frantic over being visual. a ballet system, a web in terrors, while we
say a rose grew from concrete. needing approval. relishing in the absence
of the past. or looking in mirrors,
seeing shoulders, wrestling with the ghosts that follow. more executions,
spirit crucifixions, more liquor, more pills, more hardcore explanations.
so sour about it. could never be
with her. no mere reason—it wasn’t written. never took to her. maybe needed
her. the lifestyle of one working it out. the treasure of the reassurance, to
know the power inside, lives for the voice aside us. passion fretting, unraveling,
thrusting and cursing and still romantic. too much to win! most can’t handle
winning. most are self-destructive. many more are just living.
