a soul is lethargic, another makes
bodily into music, the grace of the anguish tied to the skies; so overborne,
lacking vigor, today has become tomorrow—they blur and blend into
each other; the long road, the
inner map, animated, fraught and filled with rain; so torrential, tasting the
misery, listening in time to ghosts. so prepared for it, so
underdeveloped in it, with Love in
a trance—screaming her senses, planting her music, like drums in hells. the
goalkeeper, trying in desperation, one last yacht for the season;
the cowskin on succession,
circumcised, it’s a covenant with higher avenues. unzipped. rushing into more
opinions. the blowup, the travesty, fifteen miracles in three hours (we
could have passed away). the
underdog in the underbelly the swamp bleeding the mayfly intoxicated; to love
like it felt hurting the pain the silence, to hear it, as a ruse, if but to
ache our guts. so raw, so deep, so
much nonsense to prove a point. those topaz lenses; those lavender eyes; Love
so built—it’s illegal to ache that way; picture perfect, the
camera languishing, the lens
cracking—too radiant, too much pastrami, it was a miracle to make it. a double
tap, another feeling, thunder running into silence and skies made
famous in the trenches. we fell
apart. it was never serious. another appeared with ‘Rescue’ on his helmet. many
drawbacks, many backwoods, flippant for it feels fantastic. aside a
matchbox, sat a cigarette, his last
drag, and he meant it. so difficult to keep it, more than anything else, taste
in a zone, tugging low, clamped together, rain water drenching his mane.
talking addiction, many missed it, others are a tear to the grave.
dauntless, daisies pushed, a dead
man grunting; many years in privacy, surrounded in his mind, the dying seems
unrelenting. we were younger, it was crazed, the amazing as
losing. the audience watching. it
seems normal. the losing, the winning, the lockdowns. like napalm, like a big crass
bomb, to make a friendship. so underground, so much attention, amazed we die
this way. looking at a marmoset, seeing the mischief, palming,
gripping, snuggling bluegrass—the
blues the news and paid in soul for that. many masks, so metaphorical, looking
at privilege, tasting in jelly, bread like a major contribution.
laced in sharkskin, undone, bending
the invisible; flipper high, the wolves lit, the coyotes bathing in liquor.
moving like motivation, languishing like it hurts, the rain pouring down.
