so re-baptized
such curious nonchalance in terror in pain to have a lonely climax; so stuck
behind so alienated while you sit so close: our economic privilege our
political fan as souls there in a crevice. the bone of the blood the cave in
the wilderness those glorious emotions. as a writer might need lowness or
cherish his highs so elated to feel condition. early dawn or languishing
closeness such imperfect beauty—to rise in darkness to need illumination or to
have joys in hells—the baptism so much suffering while many are nailing for
holidays. to fritter a zillion on one for love while never a second thought—such
bleeding blueness such curses in souls where having us is some condemned
miracle. those signposts those symbols while true essence is participation
those cares to carry hurt so deserted such dirt as time would renege such ink, surefire. gates erupt our mirrors crack so infused or abused or delirious. a trip to a clinic or a physical at Kaiser while one knows nothing. such squirming such satyr souls as needing to leave but Anger is pregnant. the funeral of a morose existence the freshet of the gamble such bluebird agonies. to find destiny to have life where an ailment appears.
by critical language
searching out empirical thought while Anger is far behind. the birdsong by
beauty in its ugliness to become complacent to whisper in chaos or confined to
a nightmare.
