Woke up early day—thinking and vamping. Such tragic tenderness. To search for ingredients, to need depth. What souls go through—trying to locate cupid—some strange force, some type of entity. As it might ache—in seeing an image, it never turns around. I might seduce her. I might woo her. She might cry in anguish. But seldom a glimpse.
That place inside, too dangerous to appear. Too devastating to be righteous; too righteous not to devastate. Alike to a missile. Too impatient for such a net. It being consumption, needing depth, wrestling with indifference. I see the insanity of arts, one chasing his mirror. Such brainstorming; such destitution. A lonely feeling until it sparks. A testy feeling.
Like a dimension in time, ten toes in, three shadows warning; asking for entrance. And prose shows complication, denotes churning inside. Many must have joys, it’s designed that way, right? If a whole world suffers from malaise, then something is amiss. It would mean sadness is indicative, innate, waiting to be unlocked. It would authenticate a condition.
Maybe it’s required to unlatch depth. Maybe it’s a form of communication. Maybe I apologize for it. Maybe it must be reasoned with. Maybe it has one mission—pure expression. In placing its seed, maybe then it rests for a moment—unsettled and moving again.
II
Such a terrific smile, so filling. I kept a tender image. Right in California. Right in sunshine county. Searching for vibes, permitted and proud. They tell a story of pain, seeking love, the town was abandoned, the lakes dried, to stumble upon a petal. I felt nurtured to die, ecstatic to love. She might swoon, such to adore. Such moonish laughter, rippling through night fall. Pure expectation, to give what never voiced indifference. Asking for incessance; dovelike feathers. A man to his demons; a lady to her harps. Couldn’t believe sweet, abandoned scars, suffering angelica, skating ghosts, fretting deaths. To ask for innocence. To try in conquering indifference. Such passionate emotion, those swelling wounds. Ability to create joys, northern winds, southern cries, through sludge and mire, to bless a soul with insistence. (To ponder those realms, seeing how it hurts, a soul getting closer, stirring up a miracle; praising like a fever, asking like a blessing, negotiating feelings, tugging kayaks. I kept a tender image, without understanding depth, without sensing true agony. As it dissipates at points, to intensify at moments. No true security. Life has embroidered her mystery—as it spawns a gift, and deteriorates a soul. Alike to cursed palms flourishing, or a murderous angel, or understanding scripture. Love with passion. Living contradiction, asked to keep giving. I keep meeting what I never met.)
