Thursday, July 9, 2020

Spawn Beyond Webs (Plant One Positive Seed)

be it lesbians or ethnic refugees or swamps or caves so at war such crowns while a president is coming. opera pains or palatial pains while afforded an opportunity to fly—the gut wrenched the wretched agenda at acrimonies or feathers so tarred so plucked while Wednesday’s are by blackface. it belongs to shame its mother is rain while a psych never knew when hell was heavy:
                                    the fool in man, the bravado in man, where it must always be perfect!
so colored so renewed at breath to milk while fire was beautiful as to unleash a bastard: the title

for souls this battle for parents while so held by expectations: so indelible or indefinable or such for a complete stranger:         

his mind running, the belly vomiting, while a poet just swallowed spittle. (it would be lots of prose or

her eyes capitalizing while demons cook upon hopes—the march the melody the frank remedy—such a myth so know his name feared or hated while bowels drip into carpets:                           

our days yesteryear or mahogany tomorrow while I chose to reappear: this maniac control this

firing pin or a madman so humble: such psychology such ruins while they gave us deaths! I feel bitter. I look militant. I know Jesus.)

by benthic skies so battled while I admire what we called freedom;                                     the wired gate or electric fence while raking dirt; something to do something to suggest while I prayed with eagles, watching parrots, or fumbling over this big ass behemoth.                                                         to angelize a daughter, to think like adolescence, where said daughter grew the hell up. indeed. I adore God, such as Christ, studied and bred—while seriously affectionate the soul or permanent wreckage while admonishing principalities:

so lavender the flame, so blue the mechanic, while we might become impetuous. as speaking to self while generalizing self as if a man’s plight is ubiquitous. (it is!) (I passed a millpond. I thought of a mother. I saw her in an instance something I quite adored. so daunting but dauntless so dazzled or pure or alike to the poet quite filthy! our pantheon, Beautiful, our majesty, Gorgeous, where I must confess something too sutured to capture alone.)                       

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...