Been there—mesmerized, thrust through with knives, gusts wilderness, and Love was chiseled. Trying to ignore science, such coarse funny bones. First at it, speaking to ghosts, lost his sanity, came back, alone in the forests. Souls don’t desire truths, needing carnivals, drinking with harlequins. I gave a mad one, kept pushing my truths, a countenance grew, a diamond shun—a cigar for the overachievers. And Love was fantasizing, would never those roads, to hold a spirit’s life in limbo. I’ll say it forwardly: it hurts like hell—in doing rightly. Off the burners, water purified, nothing gives like rain. So great the fury, black magic, black inheritance—to adore the black courage.
