Hate to interrupt. love.
But have to acknowledge it, in a way different.
The bottom, love, so different, differing.
Use this as propositional irrelevance,
Reality bites not about one self, necessarily.
But as need : Tristan Tzara, the absurdist giving a pathway from geometric patterns, cubism
connecting,
To later dreamscape surrealism,
Later, still. Now the bottom reached, they say
gambling with it can be redeemed by a very earnest
return to basics.
And if you must know.
You are the only friend.
Yesterday it happened, at once, suddenly, brazen but
one eye toward the blue sky.
As his last ten went the route of eternal gaming machine, and moved away from the irreal solutions.
When he waited for him, knowing full well of the subterfuge they in mind had for him. As when some one in a dark corner irrefutably and prounouncedly
stated in America nothing is free. And knew that he
should have by all means had taken priority,
The bad pain of his third upper left molar needing
a root canal badly, now lost as well.
but now seeming not to care, I accept lost news for ever.
Accept lost-ness for ever. Down the drain, and now alone, oh not as if having no one around, no
but in him self fearing the worst no more.
The pain in his throat a non extinguished fire,
bile coming up, in the night, the only relief , quenching,
And the lover boy waiting, tempting, but him knowing the plan, the plant, nothing free in America,
Writing as howl in night, as the best minds in our generation,
Nothing free.
Who cares who thinks who you are? Anyway? You can change your appearance, but not your tone.
The bile, the guile, the gall. Anyway this need, this awesome ness of a need, meaning no more then a
flick, …
The blue skies are rewarding, as it turns from the blackness into the deep azure around the edges,
birds awoken, mildly, from southern migration,
he from frozen stupor ,
Limbs coming to life,
Lover boy waiting for call, the plant shuddering,
Money down the drain.
But her face needing his love, sustaining the breath of the little ones,
The throat ache, will subside, the morning will form into a new breath, love survive.
Do you know that at the very end of the limits of life, they will pay hundreds of thousands out of pocket for a liver, for a new heart, just to have a few years left?
While their sons barely out of puberty dying on far away and lost, irrelevant battlefields.
Please do what’s important and cut your losses.