So addicted to it, I must forgive it, hoping it
survives my death. Topaz grins, brine eyes, fiery grains—the building churning,
the quake blasted, mother just arose this morning. It was coldness. It keeps
chasing. They hate to see us winning! The pile of papers, the flicker of the
flame, the woman laughing at nonsense. The heinous agenda the cave in our
minds, the match as it flicked into space; the fireflies, the gin, the
beginning with a new name. Place it on a stone, make it white, soldier, read
the scriptures! Too much to feel this way. Too much reading to still feel like
affected. Too much understanding to still dislike self. Pulled in. Reverberating
intensity. The life of the lands of the serene. One would wish me more of the
hell I undergo; one would tillage the crops of my adoration; one would take
what I’ve cultivated. Each man must be concerned!
