so
sudden into heart-wires
so
consumed by relatability or
so
thrown and wrapped where tongues mourn reality; so cuffed by us so allergic to
us while I’ll never breathe essence into us; this cut cord those porcelain
sinks as bashed and broken at abandoned homes;
this
elastic chair those elastic musicals at mud beating pure soil;
our
tobacco boxes our cars that
cigar
aroma and our feet afraid it might not run; at colors unbeknownst at
negative temperamental and unachieved—this person so lit it was fire and so
dead it rumored its breath—as kleptic vandals laughing aftermath
too
pure to become holy; this mixed raven-heart, those darkened blackish gusts, so
frozen a lake at a psych’s doorposts; if but this wall-rug that mystique hand
this land by flame and oxygen; rewound into mother’s haven this wombic cave at
this one laborious and gangly tenet; to want like life this music as it erupts
to taste and dance and enter like a maniac;
our
shattered palms our mothers terrified or this area
so
accursed the police are violent;
a
dying man or a lying lullaby so
close
to winning; to have thought in us conniption to have seen something he must not
speak or alive and laughing while friends feel obvious; this core born heart
this mythical magical makeup while I believe something so steep knows to haunt good
weather.
I
know for decency but this fire was lethal it consumed and became genetics;
as fevered arcs or
fragile bark so arranged such agenda to plot from terrific quarters; those red
chandeliers this heirloom hostility at coarser deserts and chapped throats;
that deep damp those soot lungs
in
caves and swarming with flies;
this
damaged fury into something precious to love and adore and cherish; to fathom
and leave to need and suffer while it wouldn’t sustain its months; this
un-bricked fortress this battle upon castle-village as something so gorgeous a
man becomes crazy;
those endless realities
this esoteric few while something is deathly at tension; aching and batty upon
marble vows while sunk into higher morals; these I love this flame I surrender
while years are running into absence.
our
graves adjacent to souls while one
lingers
and chuckles; banshee chains those realist reigns
as
devastated and needing to palm our cries; this
unreal
sanity so near it boasters while feelings unwax and fire forth;
as
critical souls, so charged by us, if
but
to die looking soul to brains; so
captive
in unreality so fantastic about reality
and
endless to perish our gulf.
