(I looked.
it was sensual. I never saw her.) carry a mind-gun so hectic I kept gunfire. so
cuffed so blasted, Love was too much. I approached like a damn roach but
receptivity was a lance. such magical words a mystic rubric I saw them
floating. “I’m deranged. an older maniac. a bipolar pilot.” she looked bent so
internal her eyes rolling. I know the rule, as never while high, with such
alienation from freedom. “I’m a manic child, momma’s a manic woman, father’s a manic pimp. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t acquiesce. I came to master its haven.
I hit corners. I love women. I’ve met many too much to laugh.” she giggled. its
scenes extraterrestrial. I took measures. too little for a number, a room for
sleep, a scrape with zippers. “We mustn’t. but we must. I need to protect—as some
confession.” she danced in tights she looked like Jesus’ daughter it was music
in dying it was pain in living. “I want a room, one bed, plus, room service.”
she laughed. she wouldn’t believe it. we slept tightly. around 4 a.m., a
feeling, no condom, so frank so curt so gentle. most are rough, some pride in
men, to keep hell in her mind. such misogynists so anti-feminist, lacking a
daughter in brains.
our gunline our spirits, a body a
face, which is more important? such a scent such a degree so many fucking
loses. to still feel God, a God Scar, a broken theologian. such silent sound
such dodgeball at something so fucking aesthetic. brain-marks or
spirit-landmarks so benthic so eager too wet. a man housesitting, to look at
the news, to hear: “I CAN’T BREATHE!” so dear to fire so fluffed by absence a
soul fretting abandonment. a phone ringing. no one is there, such Twilight Zone.
I lost America I gained its women I prefer
its women. so sewed into rage such women pushing rage but Love has been good. a
birdsong a palm of talcum at a new asylum. abounding in straightjackets
confounded by passion while it's so damn fluid.
