Too much power,
like electricity, pumps the brains—lying in mud, bathing in a sink, boiling
soup in a can. Never thought it would erupt—I was naïve, the name I go by; so
simple the green grass, the bees in the hive, the wasps outside the window;
giving her the universe, speaking from the gut, so nonchalant about the terrors;
never mentioned the demons, the sweat, the fracture, God! I was a lunatic, it
lives, got ghosted with the soul; kept rereading, met sages, laughed at the
prophecy: “You’ll shift the miracle, enlove with Christ, the body will alert to
the damages—You’ll never heal, while healed.” All my warriors, the game is
over, it’s meant to cause hell! By the virtue in us, by the treasure in one,
nothing as close as three leveled fabric—the rope in Proverbs, the proverbial
voice, like God came down! What to hear, feuding dreams, had it like oblivion?
Sugar apples and breadfruit, taking mass, at communion, like dying for the
breath.
