we
rive early those raised in depression where mother is dying or father is delirious.
we overlook scars it seems insufficient we hate mirrors. a man back then, a
young master, a therapist, counselor, or someone to pay the rent. by sixteen
such rummaging such attic furniture such a perspective on existence: it screws
us, we watch for bolts we live in squalor. a clean kitchen, a tidy living room,
a messy bed quarter. to want for no greater reason than, to escape his
condition, while this was heavy for Love. to desire with fierceness, to receive
disappointment, or realize they, too, are chasing destination. our raving skies
our knee dirty prayers our cuts our bruises our raging into this bleeping forest.
but the tides are cold those cloudberries are singing while I pause to find a
ribbon. Love couldn’t see beauty. I pointed at miracles. I held a cup of
determination. the small creature those paranoid eyes if but that corner could
appraise. siblings gone. mother dead. father deceased. I need isolation. I might
become a monk. just humming and cleaning and studying. but the world is calling,
this secular calendar whistles or this pursuit through mud and grime and
recrimination. at a dominated world. by an inhabited skin. where it gets too
intimate by disgraces. the force in us those guides in us while wasted years
speak to temperaments. as by feuds, those needs, while most desire to be twenty-five.
such elasticity such reigns such attraction or courage or fleeing into
paradises. so distressed about non-consequential realities while the wall is
sailing. maybe too much delicacy. or fair disturbance. while some spend an
entire existence fixing two or three incidents. our distracted interior our
mind’s visuals while enacting those ghosts: the firm disrespect the broken
flesh or terror so tragic it didn’t end at deaths. if to live while determined
something should elevate. I watch it. it’s sickening. while we just believe
others are obtuse. it helps to move us. such demonic angels. where the world is
afraid. our casual dalliances our bias towards gratification insomuch our world
is peeking or prevalent or demanding bleeping accountability.
