Thursday, December 24, 2020

If You Met A Maniac, There Would Be Little Deliberation

 

the color of flame those tears dripping acid some curse forced into us. the seas as pure blood those mountains as full patience to arrive so early I was noticed. I lied to interior but it didn’t stick, I was lonely and curbside—the vicious mother or the peaceful mother while so fretted into a coma. the veins screaming the nose bleeding the liquor at his liver; so weak I feel, so dead in silence, some bucket filled with vomit. a friend died, another snitched, another tried something while it had to matter: so cold and raw so indifferent with life hanging by a thread. essence into timbre or tone into traffic while yelling never meant much. where Love is lethal some incredible machine while too sensitive to feel balanced. I asked for salvation so lost in aches while salvation is daily repentance; no one sees this, something given, while it’s temperamental; such tears to cleanse such raging repentance while a soul is an anarchist—such a watchword such dear deliverance or so rageful those oceans flooded.     it struck, it had control, another was jealous. I laughed but danger was near—it was time to attack. I walked yonder while filled with venom if but your mind on my Christ; so territorial so treacherous while he loved God so much, he began a killing spree; the voice they fear, the imbalance they loathe, where many will be inside you chancing notice! such brushwork those years at silence while it was security stripped. try to see, for it comes with pain, to know a person can walk into you. indeed, he must be mad. he must be looped. but I tell you something, they’re hiding. nevertheless. the moon is grieving the sun is crying and those stars are happy. at some cretin or some animal while they cage us all the same. at a sequoia upon a feeling or disgraced by his wants. to need sexual delights or to adore the poetess where rain is crashing.              I would spare you those gory details into a walking coffin; as it would scare you, some human, so evil it pours out of his pores. to meet a real maniac, as opposed to tendencies, where we have long surpassed features. black-blue buildings. untired vengeance. or untangled morals! 

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...