Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Blocked Man

 

such syrupy sand or such an ocean those eyes while I need to believe you. by sky by dome by syndrome, so addicted to living religion. those shoulders as so naïve to imagine he would see a spine. too cuffed too much diligence sure to a wilder mind. to have a need where a person is lost as opposed to flickering consequences: those gates or its fence while he hooked a sword. by cyan pavement or cliffs near shores while she leapt in dire restraints (the straightjacket). a complaining man a censored man so checked just about his life. those walls those wires while Love is heavy at its throttle—disputing honesty such a small circle where everything is, “it wasn’t me. I’m too pure.” indeed. so much a curse. so liquid inside. too testy to become friends. but Love is tender some merry-go-round while I didn’t reveal it. those mountains those charms or absence of ink, one sign. a sensitive man. a blocked-in man. while I can’t scream! so much matters, as I play pretend, some superhuman voice. such a joke so much to laugh while needing another anointing. I met her in silence. I looked intently. I met some kindred soul. a particular challenge a particular light so suffused such an effusion; those miles those grounds, I pause at a church: to speak delights to complain about humanity or to ask forgiveness for wounds. so many at devastation so many doomed as such dormant passion erupts & flies freely. “he was never good. but something changed. where most resist his intentions.” I imagine concrete, while atoms move, but so tetras-like. such a small sky such a large God while many know a hidden secret. at terrors as yanking guts so sore into a corner wailing. to grip a bottle to feel intensely while Love is watching. I can’t be perfect. it hurts too much. I feel lost to try such mutilation. either/or. the valley or the caves. while loving you is made easy; for I see you, I removed the illusion, I respect the flaws. as a mad scientist or a religious iconoclast or after something so reaching it becomes angry. certain dark clouds! certain manifests. such honorific hostilities.    

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...