yesterday rush

they pushed you into a rude, paradoxical shuffle. of stares, business bags and paper. timid, you detracted. held the inch of a rusted pole, and slipped in sweat. to rise amidst a beauty man, a live poet, a breast feeder and strip recruits. i saw your face, bellow and rinse, blur and rip in claws of anger, humiliation and worry. a thorn illusion, relentless, in voluble metaphor of disease, handicap and glaze. gazed over, insulted and ridiculed. this is our generous life, of mongering, lying and contentedness. through the curvature of my myopia, i saw your becoming a laughing stock. infused with guilt, helplessness and rigor of a manhattan rush. on the runway of sensation, of the fiscal desirability, of a burnt gamble. in your green shirt and pants, prominent obesity, burnt orange teeth, dry unkempt curls, you shrieked and pushed and screamed with lungs revolving your copper larynx, salt infused in credible anguish, of emotional freeze in a photonic palindrome of your day to day. caressing from behind, your famish nurse. begging to the dead swings, the gelatin heads, and wax models can we breathe? a solitaire rises in a confused befuddlement. pondering in tones, should i stand? for judgment in the face of humanity. surpassed in the erasure of duty and antibiotics. he offers. to which you lunge forward in a disequilibrium, twiddle your skull, pluck your brow, hit three neighbors before you pant, in a sinusoid of rhythms. heaving, with a cringe of restlessness, flinging your wire knuckles, bellowing in pain, missing your milk, dreaming of songs, neurotic and disabled, a social queer, quirky and ashamed, you may be an orphan. bleeding through your careless nose, panicked in fear of abnormal love, what lay ahead of your blue tomorrow, i wish to guess.

of the folklore and mythology of your body metronome, the tick of your circadian imbalanced with the astronomy of your chromosomes. deranged and derailed, misaligned in genotypes, the penetrance of your population, makes me think. do you see me differently? my imagination of your reality is one of a chronological decadence, of a mellowed inferior, of a specific abnormal. to make me think of this alteration, i seek the assistance of hypothesis. to attenuate a chasm. created by the random. the laws of chaos. the clockwork paradox of infinite splice, of a molecular magic infection. i wish you well, levalie. as you sweat and cry, in the rumbling of lights, and colic.