Friday, March 12, 2021

How Do We Reopen? How Do We Relearn Innocence?

 

trained versus untrained. a space in universe. so socially decaffeinated.

I sip my life moving backwards unexamined at points. a freezer man or sensitive man while wildness was camouflaged. many masquerades such golden masks with hell running into its chamber. photos of self a tear hiding so close but it churns. a belief in thumps where we assimilate, like new presidents. but life was unnoticed women weren’t totally defined, a worldview was formulating. mosquitoes in pain, hyenas unruly, cheetahs running from cities to states. a cordial man, a leery eye man, while unfortunate as a man. such envy such position while many are forfeiting biology. but arms to souls or coffins to spirits where we never imagine a soul dying so young. I sip my life moving forward reexamined at points. so desirous such an appetite while we fight to keep what we couldn’t earn. as entitled beings living entitled beliefs while others know with certainty.

            by trust if eligible by disdain if earning it where many just change venues. as ever same behavior, while life is redefined, where humans are seen as sensitive. such misuse as never acclaimed while one just cancels a contract. not a beat missed, in fact, made love that night—whatever we call making of sweet importance.

            science is appealing. but I stand condemned. because I’m siding with science, where my soul is siding with fulfillment. so dispossessed, so trashed, such property I can’t own.

            it seems mean, but one will use us, while angry we decided against being misused. fever in me or flagrant into stars, while one never intended to requite passionate rulings. but hell to it, we just keeping functioning, until what is loathed becomes our behavior.

we missed you, you never arrived, but you sat there the entire show.

I was amused to see you, we seemed so fair, where war was ensued for negligence.

I can’t really act it out. I have tried for years. but pretend seems appropriate. some land we measure, some fruits we share some roses we despair. we meet. we have bags. we never mention them.

and we get angry when they leak out.

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...