…greetings, Our Adored, this picture in
self, this spin on reality: our dreams, Love, our aches, Love, or more this
vehicle tensed with jealousies: our inner Noah, this flippant mentality, this
flippant curse: at faces with evil, at glances with death, to flee as born to
survive…. I slept as dying, to receive
as inimical, while Love was angered with justice: this trained monster, this
young lad, to enter wars face-to-guillotine: our broken vibe, our tragic loss,
this terrific curse: where mother laughs, to fiddle such destruction, or at
bars contending for reality: our birth, Love, our dirty illness, this terrific
silence: those schisms, our remorse, this remora slayer: if but to ingest, if
but to relieve, as cut for stamina: whereas, they need death, if but to
channel, where each person becomes a number: this fretful diamond, this
scandalous incense, where vision becomes intrusive: this hourly addict, this
peace in subjectivism, or this radicalized lie pleading for objectivism. We live effusion, scattered and dying, or
laughing falsely—a dozen goodbyes: our tears hidden, this furtive celebration,
this stealth creature: as never by trust, to ask for ass kissing, where inner
persons cuss glory: this magnet force, this maggot burst, to realize this messy
reasoning.
…we communicate at images, this inner
personality, this dung too blind for essence: while poverty is thrashing, where
death is colliding, while mothers are auctioning children: this traffic
madness, this traffic curse, or more to hells this flippant tear: our destroyed
legacy, our laughing mothers, this sick and psychotic sky fracture: to judge
his life, as if born this fusion, while in truth, I barely tolerate such guts:
this blank moon, this sexual frenzy, as if such denotes sanity: this fleet of
addicts, plus, addict behavior, to reason through life damn near secluded:
where issues become wildlife, or dreams become obscure, to ask this layout for
swans: this must for peace, as driving this curse, to destroy this inherent
sidewalk: our babbling arcs, this frantic excuse, to hate for he dared to
ignore bull-dung: those rubric eyes, this rubric curse, this fret as beating
into cosmos: our cuts and muscles, our vomit and cuffs, to die looking at false
reality: this fret in men, this threat in women, this glorious travesty….
…its’ pushing,
this steep resentment, this adult-crane: those greasy replies, this dung-like
mistake, those treacherous formalities: this daily name, this hidden woman,
this pure unreality: that root in mania, this blueprinted brain, and this
tragic monthly curse: to need war, as but to lose war, or but to destroy self:
this cage in silence, this rage in violence, this demented keepsake: as
shifting, while moving, to realize this local destination: this wafting stew,
this crawling ant, or this overseer passing judgment: as snoring wasps, or
manipulative turtles, or better, this dam this beaver: as tides churn, to
become straight vicious, asking for clearance: this metric beat, this treble
incest, or symbols cleaving to sky-graves….
I return to, Precious—this bright light,
this simple language: as fuming game, or releasing pain, to drift in chains:
our hourly curses, this minute for chills, this second dominating ten tombs:
this tome in graves, this thought for lesser, to admire self a bit falsely:
this craving moon, this dying centipede, or casual words feasted upon
disdainful plates: as positions taken, as it must by reality, simply because it
crossed our minds: where father is an outcast, especially, for drifting,
especially, for imagination: to curse existence, to find inner God, to become
inner God!
