Wednesday, May 27, 2020

Pain Becomes Mellifluous


what becomes of depression, or happy malaise, or blissful sorrow? clarkia eyes. or calendula smiles. such by a calla lily. what terrorizes its soul, as an unorthodox creature or a doctor of these streets? a liquor consumer or a floating dysfunction such raw activity. (so hated where it was hard if but to become (unbeknownst) an agent of confidence. the steel countenance the problem it is, while needing what we are.) almost irregular while one watches where it’s crazy to digest—the black moon our inherited racism or demeaning others for fair pain. so much to discover where agendas might shock us if but so loquacious a liar. (but a man was direct, he offered a solution, where Love might live that life. like a hospital, so special to Ezra, while most want out; such chemicals such devastation while crucial or temperate some desire to excommunicate—this life of whistles the gorgeous pain or so sick—as to look to desire while too depressed to feel otherwise; those feuds in us while seated or chattering where one needs to know where attention is given.) bucolic fields or a bachelor’s button where a baby’s breath is terrifying: such feelings aren’t fugacious such memories are mesmerizing the math the hatha the hash. but a different person those years at study while another is trying to identify from a book. but what becomes of depression, or happy malaise, or blissful sorrow? (such disjointed souls such racing horses while one gallops into a parlor: Love looks the musician or the mystic while life becomes an anthem. those foxglove windows while riding graves those freshets those fuchsia dementias; to have understood by time into fevers while a person burns with intensity—at every dungeon with stolen keys why a man said he would wait it out. that wise magician those tender wands as onlookers became angry: too offer freedom, but he would not blaze, if but a new trail is too many adjustments. (oh darling, would the seas preach joy, or the sands speak glee?) so pushed into parts where stubbornness hawks as some indelicate creature on the verge of melting into belligerence.      

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...