So
into new waves, secluded by flying fire, more souls in skies—so backstage, so
cursed, enlove with flame; and Love was indelicate, point understood, just
needing to know mirrors—so slept in daisies, Diana in Jackson, fury in penalty.
Lately,
brew has been stirring, a presence erects, one tries to imagine a name; some
guarantees, a portrait in a picture, passion in loins; to again with winter,
sullen mountains, elastic forgiveness: so tall in a short person, so many
ethics, each axiom bleeding what it needs, and art was on trial.
You
remain an anthem, I must escape, to ponder adult brains: prestige, integrity, I
can’t imagine the scar.
Symbols
in marvelous frames. Ants in the nervous system. So tired, Love: music like
terrors, screaming rites, awakening one foot digging its grave.
