I needed redemption. I was sickest of
all came before this gaze. Drawing breath, accursed, like long dreary rivers.
Clean and dismissed. Hushed and speaking loudly. Craved and craving back.
Pursued and steady at a throttle. Alleys into valleys. The nightman said he saw
her. Like a ghost gritting teethe holding back father’s tears—a mile to
redemption, a year in purgatory, one day is a thousand! Pistons and passion.
Arts and anxiety. A kindred soul in Hosier. I could never, damn what was said,
and damnation my actions—floating into sunset, walking the horizon, it’s just
better this way. I would chain-smoke, gazing into reality, never met her, never
knew her, a demon begging for crucifixion—if to return, if to be clean, if to
know the Lord we serve. A deeper dilemma, pleading innocence, found guilty for
another couples’ trespass; a living proposition, a fool for faith, at it like
mystics, at deserts in California, roaming the dearest chasm. Getting easier as
its harder the math takes precedence; mundanity with a twist, acceptance with a
grievance, lungs heathier filled with dust and dirt—cloth torn asunder, rend in
pieces, the child died on a cross!
