by truth you give,
it hurts sanity, a man at his brinks. such sweet catastrophe or so harsh its
abrasive while a man is naked screaming his love. could you take me in all
those colors where time is unrepented? could you love us despite those blue
stars—could you take this crane? it tingles softly by prink of theft by dear
darkness so underdressed. you would give me truth. it would deteriorate in
palms. you would chase dreams to understand. those pressure valves those value
theories our desperate arête—
as a man I know us as a spirit I’m weary or as a human I find faults.
it was science or chemistry or some scream outlined in glass; as it would shatter as it would live such raw unforgiveness. such a good human workshop. so enveloped in assessments. where anyone’s perception is everyone’s conception. knees struggling, altars churning, as over fifty candles burn in harmony. a saint for propriety or punishment or passion; to have days in us to alarm us while edges have colored us—
such volume so vexed or content with something nudging: uncooked decisions, kneejerk impetus, where we want back what was lost.
(we don’t say it. it’s one of those words. but Jenny is thinking it.)
we ignore Jenny. we call her strange. Jenny left yesterday.
“The hospital is different. People are watching. I can’t get to myself. We take medicine. It makes us sluggish. I won’t do it again—I swear!”
by lemony language by acidic apples or running rabid through streetcars.
such sweet fury so sore into sourness while seeing us hurts inside. rain is coming cows are grazing something comforting is far those leaves; as souls ungathered while there’s a pulpit, it sits in midst of our city streets.
