the
embrace of the piano, the lungs of the violin, the death of the viola—crying
out murder, giggling in sin, listening to waves—the curse of the songbird, the
screaming of the mockingbird, feelings burning havoc—those bones bleeding, the
marrow falling, the gravel rising, the gavel one last evening.
utter
more pain in love as sought in insecurities; tears in clubs, twigs in forests
the anxiety of the mistress—wanting to fall in love, wanting to celebrate—the
angst of the womb, the power in control, a need to have testimony; so potent,
so penchant, going in for one last resurrection—from deaths, these lives, those
worlds, into a dungeon—made of filth, lovely dirt, dripping oils, laughing
insanely, eyes bleeding.
just
say something. just hate me. just cleanse me of hopes, dreams, ambition. just
hold me, screaming, it can’t exist, fretting the puncture, bathed in tears,
craving mercy, given hell to absorb; many arts, our body magic, cleaving,
dying, one more excellence—the battle, the arc, the structure of instability.
