When I wake up and the blue light is red or in the pink of flesh, I forgot you had flesh, eyes that draw affection right out of my lie. That part gets me high.
Ever notice. How the word niggas sounds like negotiations again when you're listening to the news over bended jazz. An optional condition, chosen and then transcended and the chosen again like that love I mention. The only way. Is to ask. Do these men swing? Does anything? And then I picture trees and nooses around ebony necks and next to a piece of fruit a wail, a croon, a reprieve too real to prove, my southern trees loose as bodies on stage
Laughing like ballads and the throat constricts to hold or withhold the light it needs to live through you. And what is. The calmness of objective life? Worth, afterall. When I have so many opinions that pine to begin. To begin pining after my own will, is that the shining incidence of oneness they fake about in the sunniest way. Lunging east in a dazed quest for easy. But my insistent affection for my own thoughts is song again, so happiness is that easy in the center. No offense to the fringe made up of, whatever's there. In the sunny needs. Sin/ sun, soon/ sun, a trap of associations and how to escape through a hunch but not punish the spaces between you and them with memory
Dear Harmony, my father wrote. When I met your mother I had just had an aneurism in my throat and could hardly speak the social language. The doctors thought it was emotional. Somatic wine and roses. Everything is emotional, but the blood knows better, knows when to close the voice and open the soul. And everything is gold to get through the luck of pauses and the soul continues with no caution against you. The spirit refuses to pause. I could still breathe but I couldn't talk or sing for a while. And the beautiful shadows of winged things hung vivid and invisible like toy ideas on the slope of my feeling free. We learned total freedom/ is not the answer. We made you out of the news I gained in that hush then, before they named what it was to heal it to what it is. We blamed your beauty on the trouble. But it was actually on the thrill. Of achieving serenity in a clench if irony, radiant irony, irony that disperses to become such sincere life.
