Friday, June 12, 2020

You Might Be Leary


we say a prayer or trivialize behavior while crucifying behavior. the loud roads the ugly facts where it seems nonconsequential; to desire roses if but feathers so addicted to phantoms; as a body grows in stillness or a mind treasures its attic insomuch as lies might ruin lives. so enlove we are such underbrush or confusion while behavior designates our response. so reminded of power so cursed or delivered or so christic or Buddhist. by thunder our guts so electric so developed. the man in his box the mother tugging threads or the daughter trying to discern the weather. as living a certain way or maybe concerned in self while something is edging into silence. (I give such a name or desire total sincerity while we argue against puritans. so judged for that or determined by that while contradiction must be a ruse. our souls screaming our thoughts unpinned or undulation bubbling in sequences.) the fire we seek the battle we endure while our stories are for storytellers. if but such purity if but such honesty if but such humanness!     you exist in time separated by spaces while born to schism. it’s metaphysic it’s captured by darkness it has something grey in its math. the future with chairs the overseer with impositions the fury of the quadroon! something remarkable into something isolated while encounters often speak to biases: so underdeveloped or ill-equipped while rustling through shrubberies: those cobras those lions or those dragons: to contend with written determinants to overpower defeatist inclinations where survival is more to learn. to have greatness to sing a capella our hearts communing with existence—those lives those unfettered chains while connected to such deviance or perceived destiny. while it becomes its life those blueberry patches into essence or philosophies.     things absorbed will come to clarity while closets will open wider. cedarchests will speak. tables will whisper. where ceilings will shun, mock, or seduce a thought. such a world such absolute power while one is free to think like masses. such familiar calamities, such it must be true, while reality might become vetoed.       

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...