Pornographic emotion—merciless pity,
filled with sin—crossing eyes, and livid crowns, more mentioned immortality.
The chase by gold, looking into privilege, assigned by race; cordial/polite, much
riddle in fleeing hearts, fragile individuality; the last battle, the first
war, losing to win, winning to lose—raiding brains, beetle determination, so
close—so afar—clashing with society, addicted to guts, looking for courage—breakage!
Isn’t exact science, more experimental,
a private excursion with Promise! By desolation, a bathing moon, underscored, radical,
bleeding old glass. Framed anticipation—first invitation, couldn’t explain
why—we kept dying.
Her eyes are wolverine, her clasp is
coyote, her racing guts are bearlike; the last to survive, feeling lonely, churning
by adversity. Never much in the given; never much uncertainty in adrenaline;
surefire fever into the galaxy. Mentalism became itself—writhing inside, taken
for exclusion, so inclusive, it can’t exist! Too much existence, enough to
live, we die for metaphysics—an arcane knowledge, a mouth full of winnings, too
much begins to hurt.
The ballad is read in her eyes. The feeling is
memorized. Every time it came, she’d bat inside the fury of mountains. The first
revelation, running into boxes, the last promise came with weariness. One sits in derision, looking into
Psalms, trying to muster up a smile. Another is living good, feeling alone,
sitting next to a golden riddle; the ballad led her cries. Much a mistake to exist. And one tries
to fix the mistake, an entire life, fixing its riddle. Closed into it. Growing into it. “Tell us
what “It” is.” Wealth of the
misery—tick to the tock, one day it will never be over—the chase of the birds,
the lizards eating at religion, the Jesus in the outcry!
The mirror is a problem. It wasn’t defined. Family was
addicted to pain. Enough preaching. “Keep it vague.”
Gutter built. Tether and string.
We can’t outlive the majesty.
