the phantom snagged me. so alchemic, much an augury,
unspoken, screaming in my countenance.
we don’t know our appearance—we see conception, like
shelves, demons, broken ink behaviors.
softer, silent rune, mind tier cartoons, gripping his
brains; so seated again, a new body again, same phantom again.
unphysical physics, pink skies, bleak ambition—screaming
at contours, walls meaning isolation, scars meaning post-trauma; to give
dissention, division, schism, with dreams of healing, with nothing seeming
correct: “Let me in, despite a clear fact, I don’t receive your humanity.”
billowing seas, always water, always white whales; not
in this case some trope with underlying despair—just pain, miseries, changing
perception.
needing someone special, as interior designed, careful
with observations; most receive hostility, unless a tactic, being seen, if
uncertain, becomes enmity.
at times, we count blessings, some have majesty, we
wonder how far back the legacy extends—a tear for barrows, somewhere pensive,
dreamy, loving her, never tasting her voice—
repaired, stitched, released without training—pure catastrophe!
some problems stick—the person/situation is gone—the headstorm
has just begun.
sure surprised to hear it, it’s called an introject—trauma
appears as a repeated sentence—collecting post-trauma, to look in eyes, to
utter, “I love you.”
such reality—they call me old—where they prefer
misprints— leaving us there, knowing he’s correct—in inquiry, in assignment, in
calculation: a deranged man, a demented man, as it happened, he predicted
tribulations.
sacral or cultic or christic or yogic; by a black
moon, by an Ethiopian sunrise—loving as it spins; trembling with joy, to watch
a child, to announce to him his name.
