Wednesday, June 9, 2021

Some Crime To Adore

 

it awakens me soft voltage cheetah sparks. those lies are tender such cinnamon eyes those kisses can’t describe us – loud language, coarse bones, deeper gristle. you strike me, so gorgeous at a second, so wrung at moments. underwater breathing or high mountain skiing so up for science. I often look I often close my eyes I listen to plans sounding like wishes. you might remember me, a bright soul, an ignorant wizard. much contradiction much winning with loses so colossal. but you were riches feeling like loses, it’s never as fulfilling as a first whiff. so great an eyeopener so treasured a mistake, we look for people to complete ecstasy. the table is a crime the chair is aloof those papers have nothing to do with scenes. mental filmmakers, violet essence so dear to what never occurred. I never got close. I never tried. it came as an aftermath. the geometry of losing the math of a life ruined or musicality in something right near the surface. maybe denims a blouse a pair of New Balance; something delicate, something nonchalant, made purring in its time. maybe unsteady maybe suited maybe laughing in silence. maybe an old photo atop an older dream while we desire more our anticipation. to find energy someone able surety in fire. to want it back those long applauses those intimate vulnerabilities. or seated with rain as it drips down faces while strays surround for kibbles. the plight of the hummingbird the glory of primates our dearest desperation to outwit Divinity.     you see immortality as becoming pure energy to zip from islands to seas – to make location to preside in a daughter to push for excellence. too much a giant, those intimidating eyes, while collapsing into a lover’s miracle. mixed by unmixed, doubts become surety, perceptions remain obscure; so much a shout into human shelter around a state giving so little. some crime to adore or to shower or to say an apology; walking backwards, reversing time, sweet opportunities we can’t sustain. it’s said in private, sheer sexual addiction, most of what we depend upon. so much nausea so cooked where opinions are thawing gently.    

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...