in opposition

how long and hard does one need to try. to reverse fate?

this life. in opposition. think of diagonals. and the quadrangle of symmetry. coned into a brick of sand. malleable and inert. like a wisp of talcum. how long does the orgasm of sweat. bead on a monograph of mustard rain? how long does this longing for love preside. and decide. this envelope of purple corn. there is a monogamy of smiles. so familiar on your skin. each in a discourse of cold winter cobblestones. by the craters, and sand dunes in the desert of chokes. you cringe at the misery of this cold compassion. this life in opposition is at the pinnacle of design.

who designed your garland. and the vocalist of your chimes? who gave you the wisdom. to enter. to penetrate. to perverse. your bastardy. your cold cruel intentionality. your physiognomy of intellect. and demeanor of midnight. black and pale. this white of wombs. this cushion of strange, caramel sexuality. take pepper and pride. burning. flags of your virgin snarl. your plastic indolence. your translucent opacity. your opacity of monologues and dialogues. inscribed in the interior of your wet, somber vagina. jiggling epiphanies from the agnostic philosopher seeded on the interior of your sobriety. you drunken bastard -you cheat me. on this balance of rust flakes and pegs. of nails and the violence of a crown. power. and shame. and the dignity of the pauper. you have stolen, in your grip. the chasm of night lust. your duty as a cyclist of dancing statuettes. rest in love. and desire. this bizarre allegory of words. lay down and dream.

in a rustle.