getting
uncomfortable? truths like clocks, a constant ticking. nowhere in life, so
graved. back to Malaysia, after Australia, so confused by whom we are allowed
to adore. look at the disdainful stoats, the rabid rabbits, the nuns too
ashamed to claim the churches. more to mind-government. more to one glass only.
more to a sedated state of consciousness. dead silence. airborne destruction.
no one has done a damn thing. she seems too much, so familiar, a fear to a soul
with her accuracies. I know a fact, the past is living, a person needs the pedigree.
some torch for her, so much a time in a daze for me. taupe eyes, yellow flesh,
so somber, a soul’s weakness. never a lonely sadness, never a woman without an
option, always those through cracks and crevices and a man is dying inside. I opened
a bottle, only three days sober, it kills to love an adoring nonchalance. it
hurts. it screams. it feels so terrific! topaz thighs, loopy hips, small
calves, bleeding navel—to understand this problem, so easy, so hard, body has
nothing in its mind, getting closer, raging in a climax, told to go. the phone
inside, the machines attached to PCH, the drama in a mother hating my guts.
audience adrenaline, passion pains, so much blood, so lost, so much insanity. I
know a fact, the present is a product of failed anything, the grout, the
mortar, eating skies like demons.
