when I pass out,
let it be gentle, let me passby in a Passion dream. so cultic so glossed so
retyped—never heard him, I knew his countenance, he died weeks later. many
rolled harder, emphatic with ghosts, it was in his walk. we cross chalk, praise
outlines, place flowers with candles. I choke up. I see faces. I remember foul
ass mud. I hit a drank, begin a tear, I sit to paint rain.
he was different
he was pain, unlike others. he carried it. he shared it. he destroyed it. I
wonder while falling, bleeding like a vision. softer souls, sympathetic eyes a
friend in you.
nights moving deep
in motion a locomotive living silence. he turned up. I saw a demon. I stood
firm. we locked arms. I couldn’t decipher. He teaches my hands to war.
can she smile
again? if we die again? it’s been distance again.
he was changing,
robbing again, nutty, nutting out, on anything. they crept, lost mercy, filled
his body.
burn this carcass.
make it ashes. give them to greatgrandchildren.
I’m isolating,
watching rules, careful to show respect. it kills it aches many love the
future. I look back, I pass a park, I see demons.
his friend shifted
coins. as initiation he turned treason—killing his street friend. we felt
shocked. I closed my mouth. it was years carrying spirits.
it gets to me a
bad ass woman like how in hell we win? eyes on pavements. ears to doorsills.
lips to clarinets. I lost respect. no one knew it. it was crazy. anything,
everything, it never changes its maps. how was it? it was pain. we climb
mountains, graffiti caves, fire is a metaphor. last to follow, first to walk
backwards, I need analyze each grave.
