Thursday 28 July 2011

old one dreadlocked unfinished

Love. What was this word love and her many repetitions, her various meanings to diverse peoples. Her attachment to some individuals, while others she out right eluded for always. Never could be bought yet always on the auction block in the world. A craigslist listing would offer her for four twenty? A toss-up for maryjane? A friendly exchange of goods for goods, goods for greats, goods for goddesses, cheap plastic sacks of chemical crapwrap - passion plays minutes or hours only long...

 Short the patience required for the real. u like it? u dont? 
 shit, your aura is looking droopy. i see a kinda pale dripping teal. 
 Didya get downsized? from the belly of the whale to an elephant seal         sunning for your comfort all day at the wharf. barkin to keep the oxygen circulating through your scrawny sidesteppin grille....  nah! 

Step to the truth of this kind of sadness...manifest in cities and suburbs and rural surrealities, all across your gentrified former farms and unharnessed lands, no one can remember anymore. Step to the sad truth of this soon forgotten game catch of love within the more controllable context of lust and self-marketing fueled by loneliness and greed, fear and need. Fear and need. Loneliness. Greed -- step out. 

Witness the watchers (who witness too) cold in the eyes unable to blink. Refused to look away from tragedy. Greco-roman perfectionism-ready.
Now they never will and where love resides so also reside the watchers for eternity and possibly past times running downtown, too. Even the thought of such visions in hell took the thinkers of the thoughts to emotional lows rarely recovered. 

In rare cases (usually antisocial or sociopathically labelled) such emotional descent might be succeeded by rising titrated blood tides. For whom love may as well suffer only the hour the sunset tapers... to the moment of cold dawn frozen in the face of a dying star - - -
mad & red
this - - -
         mad red sunrise

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