By nature he collects errors, endorsed by darkness,
affectionate with deaths—by rain to die, by skies to arise, I heard heaven
opened. As soon as I entered, it looks familiar, each sunrise is a spirit. Holy
music, haloed women, aborted and came back. I needed another try. She kept me.
On stained glass, sun driven beliefs, filled with
conviction, paradox is vehemence, a soul must open.
It starts with dirt and dust, familiar to slums,
racing down Faith.
Numen determined, to land on subtle negation, thrown
nerves, tolerance augmented.
I heard God was baptized. I was inside a loop—soon re-aborted,
given, for it hurt to care.
I know one, so difficult to see identity, just upset,
barely to function.
It was unsteady. It meant so much. To have
deteriorated to dust.
