Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Soliciting Walls

 

by spatial ecology by rapid radiance so infused as losing senses; core raven hearts such penalty so crazed in you. aside millponds or petting deer faces such wild tender eyes; so natural or cursed or fluid into something erotic—our ghostly souls as to speak internally such force in rainbows. knee-high sulfur or platonic alibis where something is incognito: those crawling estates such reaching aliens by mud or grime so sentient. to exist in portraits or the camera’s gaze while it seems so Eurocentric. the man colored or those arts facial so recharged while facing sameness. the defeated frog or the lucky frog while something turbid became a prince—so fevered so gassed such a gravid insanity; to hope in ribbons to thirst for a Pulitzer or to die in seeking—those grand designs those cigars at tension a sip to feel like winning—the gut-picture the phone photograph as silenced but roaring; at caged furies or refocused but losing insomuch as a manner of decisions. (I do think a way or ask a question to know what feels like softness—the fret in intestines those wars in waves with undulations as stars in atmosphere.) to abuse self as realizing only exits where a man needs an interest—those balloons as reaching higher to imagine floating into an orb. by avenue to tread gravel with rod or staff at a man’s culture. so unhealed trying so desperately if but to fix what has become genetic: those fires in Haiti those treasures in Kenya or such animosity stirring in retrospection. to sit with a feeling to frame an emotion or to have nakedness as never so aesthetic; our years with youth as to live our screams while one considers one dirty. such flame in misery such guilt by filters or so ashamed it becomes normal.

…but a vitamin for sociology but a drug for holiness or a dream for physiognomy—the bowels of the falcon the screams of the eagle where it was hell letting go…. such grout in nostrils such knots in nothingness where gnats become mountains—the molehill as a freshet into a sky where clouds are puffing indifference. those candescent felines those prurient miracles our last welts!          

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...