in
the desperation of nonchalance, so tired of adoring you; a cultured loss,
patent pain, patient in your absence. you have died before; in seeking
excellence, eating noodles for breakfast. by studying you, i discover my dearth,
the luster of betraying myself. over the horizon, i see a rainbow—we promise so
little—it seems we deserve chaos: its order, appeal, and its contempt. such
insolence in its insistence, begging for freedom; to have arrived at her steps,
unaware of her horderves—longing for what we possess. to desire the grandest
gesture—some grandiose flavor, what we feel and run from—so condemned. i’ve
been sick with patience, adoring from the first sight, so involved with an
ideal; too desperate to win, too nonchalant to lose, so confused, for nothing
makes magic anymore. sweet, raw disenchantment, such disillusion, wrapped as it
were in the nectar of the snake. certain astrology—realizing the worse is the
best of honesty—a person controlled by feelings, and carnality, with spirits
wrangling her tongue. so fair the desperation, so unfair the struggle, while
standing in place, it doesn’t change, we remain in place. at the apex of
discomfort, mind overriding body, too sullen to fret an emotion. like sickle to
heart-soil, a deceased land, a blurry nature, sharing what makes us
ashamed.
