Are we
connected? Just needed to win. It gets to prayer, majesty, and forgiveness.
Swooshing and swishing into religion, the spirit never quenched, hearing and
listening, like miracles with a bad ass angel. The inner sinner, the last loss,
headed into coldness—the foreign lady, so amazing on a feature, what in God is
man facing? Too hype on it, suffocating on helium, a soul palming note pages;
so regathered, so electrifying, so amped and chilled, like tasting liquid gold.
I put it down, swayed by emotion, never knew how we own each other. Like hieroglyphic
pain, Egyptian resurrection, rereading each line—the phantom near me, the lady
in rave, such fire and devastated; the body is a mystery—depending on several
factions, just in pace to fret over ambition; the war inside, keeping spaces, a
dream to be so much more than human. In essence, so much flame, torn and
depressed, prayed up and amazed how another morphs me.
