Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Behind The 8 Ball

 

on March 9th a son was born a dream came to life his future weary or torn apart with needs of eternal ambition. so stripped of faith but filled with faith so disgraced by happenstance. no greater functionality no superb blessing just raw ass science. I was more to religiosity more to mysticism it gave me vague answers. I kept an unkempt soul I neatened up it was hell loving the wrong village. so many people such personality while the nights were cold. I chased like foolish I danced like mating birds I ran like cheetahs. there you sit as reading anguish so detached from something human. the dying me is different from the casual me while blending seems terrific. such love for you such platonic admiration while you never know what I see. it should be fancy. it should live forever. without want of scratching our scalps. my heart hurts it heals it hurts again. so drawn into you so fantastic a feeling until reality swerves next to a police station. so uncured as made mad into a faculty seeming obscure. I heard a woman, a young lady, at the inauguration. I saw a man as made of color, a major presidential leader. or I heard a woman as first in line, to become Vice President. our culture needs more, it’s never clear, for I saw a noose in Trump’s people. I wore a hat it was mulatto I changed it, it got humanistic. on March 9th a mistake happened, a father got ghost, as usual, a mother hung in there. people dislike facts, they trip out, but we have to live with facts.

the fence is golden, we touch fingertips, our parents are raging. a brochure upon tablets an escape made crucial or Juliet in a bind. such pure agape or uncivilized addiction, in such a pain as to ask for marriage. you sudden an attraction. it’s not straightforward. but it aches in ribs tearing guts. but a cellar instinct, so subterranean to give all that one might muster. so impure searching for purity but the classes are want for attendance. sounding symbols to have lived with perfection such reasons to try harder. but flame chokes or water dries up in a land trying to master itself.  

I’d Save The Reader Years

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