drift
my eyes, so imperfect, such a sketch to spirit.
to
have chilled on more panic to unleash an avatar.
I
wasn’t right, it was death, so flung into its portal. a turbid so murky a filthy
innocence; to bleed skepticism or unwring guts a maniac man so phantom: if but
for us such trust while devastated. so Sammy such comedy to imagine life as so sutured;
if wanting damage a tear for Jesus a path such whorish graves: but angels seize
or days are regrets so felt into an avalanche. a low tempo, my black race, so
refaced or cursed—those flames its ceiling while a house crumble! Love needs
physicality or a man disgracing her while a pit would fiend; by magic our
culture where we return to our great gnat. a fret so sore a woman so directed
while needing so atypical control! to desire a spaceship or a craft where Love
has adored more than existence: such imperialistic angles so deep dying life as
too compelled to admit a penalty for both cultures: a man sold to sex, our
world flaunting hexes where we have located deep frenzy. I was pulled, so
determined, I never had a feeling like that! Love is with innocence but dying
occupation where so sexual a death those circles if he died. I lose me. I deaf
a feeling. I cure a curse. those damn eyes. they fret his guts. while seeing
you, in dear spirit, it bleeped his damn brains. I must leave me in
order to dream you while a scent is a miracle. to laugh with you, or tears with
you, as filled or quasi-devoured!
