Tuesday, March 9, 2021

Unchained Taming Ourselves

 

life is different, a similar protest, while many count platinum spoons. ants near windows ladybugs in grass a butterfly in a jar. too much to verify too little to count while palms reach out. 

I would to my account such winds in crimson such combs late whispers. one screams passion, another screams science, Love needs both! born identity so precious if never too much – as broken on Sunday a curse by Friday so surprised at what we lust after. 

I cave up at times if even to mention what souls are attracted to. 

total woman, diamond instincts, so praised sipping a pint of vodka – smoking a cigar, talking vulgar, a bit loose on a Saturday night.     a man gets mad another truly knows pain as convinced a demon haunts … 

my brain hurts it becomes celebration champagne poured into souls. so affected inside so courteous in flames with little to claiming authenticity. 

what we wouldn’t do others master while we chase forbidden skies. 

… almost elated or sad a pail such gusts as swooping through showers …. the restless catastrophe or mere fact she needs a little girl inside. so pregnant with fire so alive it dashes where today we play guitar. upon a jigsaw life into dream-wilderness or aside self, communicating. sure into deserts such a big ass elephant while knowing you has been excruciating. so visceral so out-balanced, while we played piano until it bled. so impiously pious so drastically uneasy if but roots into a hollow into a grave. to adduce a language to produce a culture while most are riding illusions. 

if you need a lie, I do understand, but we must come to self, early the next morning. I was assigned to a wasteland it felt like problems while dusty fields were filled with kitchen appliances. a go-to feeling as it consumes where regularity means outcasts. tongue to sockets a young child mommas whoop ass. so crazed over it such despair over it while we travel forever to get away from mirrors. braiding horsehair made up like a petition too damn gorgeous to ignore. a soul to humors a difficult empowering reality while so sunk in destiny becomes passive. 

too much to expose it, while many run from it, only for catching up with tendencies.          

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...