Good afternoon. If even in prayer
By evening as a pauper in a chair
i have spent my life in explaining
these thousands dreams where most
are swallowing these dreams i never
ignored. And now there is one patch
of flowers explaining me.

From a golden rim step among vocal chords
pink and velvets, as gray gauzes,
and crystal disks of folly & disease
We believe and see digitalis wounds
with their centuries of no talent!

And Swearing my love, made of love
that maybe she lies — that she may
think I am unthinking /unlearned in
a world of falshitiest — on both
sides \ that she knows my days are
best undoing her tongue that she is
not unjust | Oh! best is love untold
and between us we are all undo
suppressed : by love’s inhabited
by lies we flatter be.

In spite of hate and love
In realization I am the one
lost in this cage____
the only one \now weeping/
Christ.

:: 04.08.2024 ::