holy
angels—thrust through atmosphere, the cages bursting open; low lines, lower
chakras, higher waves—through anxiety, unto a few psychiatrists, many souls
holding to what hurts; followed from gates, riding the Grey Hound, laughing (gently)
over the beauty outside; doing in alignment—meaning his intestines, more losing
before it’s over; special wilderness, sylvan hearts, the greatest at something
obsolete—to feel a measure, mnemonic thought-shivers, at thoughts deeper in the
rivers; many mistakes, a miracle to dine, wanting it bad enough to push through
lethargy. first endorsement, last wishes, correcting too much to feel normal—the
salute to Jesus, the fret over Christ, many trying to decode the freedom in
self-direction—and why freedoms are punishable. so psychogenic, so
affectionate, too much disbelief. days are selected, documents are written, we
ask concerning webs and agendas and the trash i’ve eaten; many a name, many a
curse, with more upset than passing congrats! violins bleeding, guitars
wiggling, the ocean was inverted; heads into clouds, fit for winning, to
understand it was a ruse—the mistake was deliberate, Love was gorgeous, or pain
was misidentified—the last message—the first gift—and another looks like wings growing
into open space—flapping like wickedness, so adorable, the wrong whisper—as cussed
inside, to hear a laugh, awakening to a sudden volt.
