i act as the poet this night, this time for a Soul with empty stares. Without
melancholy or extermination, of a broken home with distance mother and father —
believing not knowing that bitter Souls have separated hearts. Time grows me
older but not my skin nor flesh — bride — we dream within pride!
others grow death through disease. So we hard harder toward the feast of Paradise.
Where did she go wrong/ hey! mother! Father! come back! i’m trying!
hey! Mother! Father! dreamer i commend my light to her dark star,
for family.
Nature so stretched out. Two oiled
lamps with the gentle flame of her flesh.
I watched over bleched bones and
the clothes of the once impregnated
with seminnoctural material.
Withing this historic way my bones
and flesh acquired a great thought
of preponderance in my loving
and forever living intentions:
do you not know I write of you
;those in the future.
it’s heavenly.
believe.
:: 09.20.2020 ::
