I
coddle you, at samples by lights, infused by palmprints: you’ve died in us,
painted in purple fresco, firewood and analyzation: those high cheekbones,
those parents feeling pity, or mother shifted at intrusive seconds: our broken
skin, such discoloration, while heavy and sunken, where hummingbirds come to
relax: by inrushes, by queens never examined, by treasuries and vows:
heretofore, a silent attempt, to state with certainty, this unyielding love: where
father is lethal, or father is off-balanced, or any misfortune to engender
another lost year: such family doctrine, while a son is tortured, while
interracial has claimed anti-color: something impossible, even in sullen eyes,
while provoked no-one is listening: as beloved creatures, we die affection,
where love becomes sentimental: orpine flowers, charlatan alerts, and opaline
frustration: so determined to skate, but dearly without contemplation, where
another person’s rage becomes your endeavor: but life pleads, and rivers
whistle, while something delicate reveals its wiles: those private islands, at
needs to overthrow, where something indebted becomes a fawning slave: but yours
is sweetness, this image by illusions, so radical, so offbeat, where it doesn’t
matter this speaking: because destiny is mapped, as figured out, and mother
gets what mother has invested: inner shades, a turning heart, such resentment,
such rage, such control through violence: our shattered trees, our restructured
transmissions, our first oil change: at memories and guts, while such an
affectionate stranger, while tugged to pull back: as giving white culture lots,
as received as something vile, for flesh and odd behavior proves intolerable:
to ask about illness, to ask about cheating, or to ask about lying: these
things become futile, for displeasure has a voice, and clearness speaks in
their favor: for it’s right to assail, and it’s right to burn, and if one is
angered, we get an order: such deep resistance, where mothers are repulsed, for
precedent is settling: but yours is beauty, a feeling towards righteousness,
while influenced to ignore reflection: never those eyes, and never those grins,
and never full justice: as distressed concerning racial matters, needing full
acceptance, while ostracizing a man for being unfortunate: those insecurities,
this false foundation, while one is active in three different states: at sunshine
antennas, at deeper evils, while those things we see are those things we
ignore.
I
become a tiger—sorting through realities, attempting to refocus something
crucial: as losing hope, and losing debates, where ignorance and blatant
disease wins: while people know, they dishonor self, at something debilitating
existence: our lying mirrors, our clean consciences, while up for burning a
fifth party: some have it hard, some just ignore insistence, and some haven’t a
clue: it’s just right, and hell to observation, and if one is persistent, than
kids are taken away: a perfect life, to burn and laugh, while onlookers ignore
common decency: fleeing respect, exonerated for life scars, while enduring pure
hell: but this is that, and perfection rests there, while the rest of our
worlds don’t have a clue.
Father
is wrong, for secrets are for adults, and fathers must endure their lots: this
strange rule, where if love is present, Love endures until it destroys: this
examined feeling, this clump of icy desert, while a coke machine appears
midair: such illusion, such creative mishaps, where a person adores another
person for dying softly: our lives with loopholes, our detriments fully
ignored, our afflicters living in total peace: indeed, a misnomer, as to look
daily, at one partly destroyed: those mixed feelings, while composed of
infractions, where tears and anger serve as something destructive: our
sentimental anguish, a similar conversation, while one is pleading life: so
addressed as death, so lived as sinning, while a man seeks a confidant.
