I wanted order, those beliefs, as
sturdy as root and bark; to dine on charisma, air, characteristics, to plague
senses. I never knew a glance with power; I never succeeded those dreams; and
saying “love” appears fallacious. Into rooms made of bronze, a ferret made of
gold, a zillion dollar vision: her smile!
Maybe an academic, a scholar, a
scientist of proportions; maybe a chef, a home keeper, another dream, at
planks, looking to leap, so existential – maybe all the above, balanced at
photos, vomiting at 2 in the morning.
The
rich live differently, maybe more intensely, maybe full and empty. Maybe to
love harder, as more persuasions, or, suffering builds links in chains, or,
easier to sway, the damaged body!
I
wanted order of beliefs, secure materialism, if to surprise America, fortified
from intruders, in essence, I desired the impossible.
I
needed poetry in the person, something grand, extraordinary, unbelievable,
neither envied nor endorsed – something personal, unique, fulfilling the empty
space.
Each
tattoo, each scar, for faith, branded and flying, if that second, bending flame
and water—to remember pash, infatuation, love, promise and styles—by fever to
imagine some battle, where souls debate, soaked in passion, coming together in
helium, too holy to digest.
