Sunday, June 21, 2020

Chords Should Harmonize


we have thick skin, such by virtue, because it hurts too much. one sees this, one is troubled, so gelid so deliberate. we disturb our women, for mother was uneasy, so women are unstable. it couldn’t be, such needs for existence, if but its source of resistance. such softer perfume, such nectar necks, while pure weeping. as crossing bridges, as filthy with love, so much desire for her inescapable. as cryptic humans, a man might love noncolor, so tender a thought made inaccessible. but such difference such flame where a man needs to satisfy a stranger. many effaced atoms. or quadroon infants. where perception overrides ambition. the dying fever those feral anxieties where one exudes misunderstanding. but a dizzy man or a compassionate freesia so cursed while faithful is but a scream: a pillar of salt for always looking back where a man can’t treasure his mirror. so defaced such permanent ambiguity or a stressed imperfection: mismatched, mangled, with dark mistakes the marshy fens. an artist unraveled such starving for culture plus drugs malign by nature. (by radical climbing or trying to look up where humans are quite cruel.) to embellish love, or to fall easily, while wrapped in another’s chorus: a deeper search a need for satiation or pure variety: it’s never with ribbons it’s always in passing while it’s no longer bashful. such rough patches, such old denims, while one becomes afflicted by multiple assessments. an inner façade an inner charade where persistence seems like a sham. an unfeeling laughter or public guffaw by breathless embarrassment; where one never leaves, another is a hallway chandelier, where another is freelancing; such by lists, or screaming signals, or controversial chaos; where questions mean lies or a man to hate his conception in an attempt to create a deficit; so much to untrust self, where reality needs its bloodstream, while insecurities are countless: by lives we select, as computerizing our beliefs, but many need more than a program: where rules are capricious, or sex is available, where questions are taboo: to argue purity, it seems a cartoon, while magic is necessary.           

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...