I like your hung deep face and its glorious liniments.
That’s such a big truth and strange and something only writing can fall on.
When you tilt your head
seductive disapproval makes me wonder if it’s truly worth it…
Strategically, hugging and kissing me….
…while rolling the fleet of warships – to condemn my rape traumas
that have nothing to do with your ice art.
Ice heart.
There in your youth and in your misunderstood underground you moved us towards weird allegiances and shadows.
You could always do whatever you wanted. There’s talk of worlds and talk of ways worlds are. Nothing is ever said about what any of this means. There’s the sense of a life. That’s the way it seems. You represent the life as a dog’s. Alternatively, there’s how this rose is found in the world. That’s not representation but more a willingness to listen under scrutiny. There’s that old ‘conscience behind your conscience’ thing happening as well.
Once you told me I had no symbolic balance.
What’s left are the four thousands followers I sent to your Instagram accounts to make you look good, my Empress.
Myself, that useful fool in the puddle of tears in front of the crowd making up a circular sculpture.
Or is it the Rosekill lake?
Would you care?
Perhaps,
too much effort for undocumented emotional labor.
If you wrap yourself up in the coolness of the plastic you may suffocate
from sugarcoated transparency.
So as to rule eternally, this fleeting dream of life, bubble burst or art?
In a fit of fear, shame or just blind conformity I ended up watching the Anise Swallowtail flutter from my thrall rather than eat its gold and blue fronds.
What upsets me understands me. So I watch out for perturbations like that.
A ground squirrel killed by a truck is eaten by a black beaked magpie. There is space here for anything but growth and change.
I am dreaming out this for you – life journal, life sponge.
Patching up the shards of what it means to be a friend.
The windless forests grow black and die. The mountain peaks shed their snow like festering resentments.
I hide my grubby impulses like a mountain goat in loose white sand rock. Here are my 4 animals: the kick-back Black Bear: an alleged Grizzly: a Bobcat withdrawing her continual self-creation: a gray wolf in cahoots with the unsettling bride of a monster. One is an imposter. One is an obvious though half-witted hedonist. One lacks definition and is hard to appreciate, like a shadow on the x-rayed organ. But my favourite, were I to choose, is sleek and distrustworthy like a rich peasant with a passing knowledge of Kant. Anyhow, how are you now?
I sense a meaningful life coming on. Would I be right on the button?
The reproach that commends celestial bodies. I am soaking it all up now and figuring out the points of breakage, you Empress sit in your lodge like penniless Sean Parker, and deliver judgements to sooth your distaste for humanity:
Emilio R., took all his ideas – especially good three sisters’ ones – from another person you say, but you are so sweet to his face, aren’t you best friends? With a thief?
Sindy B., had no idea what she was doing until you told her so, and she is a better artist all thanks to you, isn’t she? Well, at least you taught her how to do proper research so she doesn’t just show up clueless without knowing where coffee comes from! Or betrayal? That’s an achievement, for art.
Michael F., is just a child, immature, not different from your toddlers, funny how he sits right next to them, lost like a puppy. Without you, he would be hungry, wouldn’t he? How does it feel to despise everyone?
The list goes on… I know, you know. Residency’s Biblical Judgement Day. Born in the barren desert. Miss Messiah-ish. Your thoughts were larval as you seethed through the singular person that crossed you. I was there, holding space, listening to it all as the young kittens played, knowing – possibly – knowing you must think little of me, too. Animal lover who doesn’t wear leather, how banal? Until I realized how little with your petty little girl voice quoting my Instagram’s captions – you have now more quotes from me. So to quote.
>I OWN THE VOID OF THE COSMOS<
It’s no use being naturally just a character. No use trying to bribe your inclinations. Your private house initiated rites that were nothing but despicable. You had your scruples and so did they. But neither could resign themselves to being alone. Were you ever trying to be pure? Mortal? Legal? Was it always just about your ass hovering in everyone’s face?
There is a code in all this. That’s what you wrote down before you left. Do you still drink water and eat that yellow rice of yours? And why?
You therefore remain a vignette of the deceived. Which is sad and destroys psychology.
Empress, have mercy on your subjects-friends! Regardless of how little you think of them, they may have feelings beyond their use by date. Why don’t you share with others your true judgements? Oh, they are useful! Those friends! Those fools, those human failures, not like you, my Empress…
You once enjoyed ballet I hear. So are you happy or just fulfilled?
