Friday, June 29, 2018

Perfect Errors


…this threshed genetic, this pathetic existence, this dying soul: as juiced with sin, or extravagant luxuries, peering at this imperfect gem: can’t nothing die, living this satanic mischief, while longing for this man’s wife: our daughters giggling, our mothers livid, feuding this diamond tester: our kites at breakage, our women at woes, this perfect universe: that cold goblin, this aye-aye terror, or this eye-eye gremlin: our guts ruined, our diarrhea laughing, this pistol purchased with heroin: our minds at persons, this field internal, this life as breakage: this wine stained goddess, this sense with pieties, or melancholic at bars: this pub for liquor, this granny dying, this man thinking (of) mother: this psych pushing, this soul gathering, this inking mother: or beautiful fires, this lamp with ecstasies, this Yahwistic algorithm: those epiphanies, this noetic breakage, this rhapsodic maniac: to gut for survival, to lose something kinetic, where something blue speaks to familiar carnivals—as laughs Scarface, this face of deaths, this running capuchin: the wrong message, this pictured swan, this man pleading Jesus: this man with pillars, this test with pliers, this mafia as father’s: this prime beef, this civilized death, to cut with wasps: our brains as garbage, this fool as deadly, this dangerous exploitation: at sublime captures, to live this lesion, this bleeding wound: this pus for liquor, this warmth for passions, this ghetto for nutrients—as nurtured to destroy, while fighting tendencies, as told by consensus this Jude is watching: this Big Brother, this uncle officer, this agent trespassing: to speed through women, while addicted to women, this man at love to redeem mother: our broken music, this rebel in essence, this portrait laughing at Jesus: where mother screamed, Truth, this ducking limitation, while to arrive aware of this legacy: if but his guts, to know your path, while something felt good for me: this reckless cadence, this dim cliff, this man laughing with Jesus: our darts splattering, this religion as background, this fool as immortal or famous.  …to dine with crows, as close to eagles, where genetics point to something historical: this future granddaddy, this last resort, this man pushing for this little girl: our eyes at water, our mothers feeling slaughtered, at lyrics with pure language: this beaut as dying, this beaming maniac, this curse as beating to hell this family: our fathers hustling, our mothers turning tricks, if but to place a plate at junior’s table: this remote laughter, this agonizing secret, our cousins with pictures: to laugh at moms, while freaking his brains, where a younger runs into banks: this have-what game, this have-not pain, where an adolescent stabs a Lexus: that woman, that mother, that hell to cavities: indeed, these blurry eyes, this man laughing, this death as too fatal: to ask for comebacks, to ask for civilization, this immortal caiman: our friends dying, our brains running, this ventriloquist scything our frantic behaviors: to need for wholesome, this boring existence, this thing concerning endeavors: as doing bad, while freaked off of gin, while slanging another travesty: this boosting mentality, this young tidal wave, or this magnificent boarder-line: to get it laughing, while drugged at flights, this twelve year old reject: {it was hell, Love, this man at tears, to push an Urban City: our warriors grinding, this stuffing of socks, this big mouth language: to drift at fifty, slamming through gutter lanes, to wonder of this remission disease}: where days are head-storms, accused of jumping this gun, while curious about decencies: this aged soul, this wisdom monster, and this agitated exchange: to sense blues, to lose eye contact, to freak out Uncle Sam: to go big, Love, this laughing for sanity, this freaked existence, this husband at tears: to know resistance, to claim insanity, while as sane as George Washington: this bad luck, to act as if, where persons fall to nonchalance; this banging heart, this shark at drastic(s), or this tragic but attuned mother: where granny sat in private, while aunt died gently, to lose so much but a child sacrificed.

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...