We may of been chosen,
while dead-end city streets remain interwoven and gritty. Soiled alleyways of poignant effluent unravel below traffic-signal equipage. Sordid ink-smeared newspaper elegies dissipate with seasonal gusts of scattered thundershowers. Hungover denizens may curse morning traffic spilling convenient store coffee staining bleached collared shirtsleeves, splashing mud-filled puddles upon poor spirited pedestrians.
I've been picked on and picked up, ascended into celestial havens of ecclesiastical symmetry.
Carnal midnight eternally weeps its strayed acquaintance. Ariel rays of golden sunlight draft below velvet curtained windows draped in sallow evenings aside fiery residential mantels. Routine alloy cutlery cordially placed upon bleak damasks of hopelessness; I've seen her pale face embroidered, bewildered: inflect off silver soup-spoons.
Quarter to one she popped Valium into her sparkling poinsettia. Crimson fizz rose off her polished glass onto a scarlet tourniquet. Her supple face rapidly flushed to complexion incarnadine. The process initiated early that day, she started slurring forsaken languages at a quarter to three; and no one came to see me that day. I reached into my torn pockets for refuge and cough medicine. Lascivious syrups of desirable dementia; don't forget myself lover amid sour bourbon aftershave kisses, below auburn coffered ceilings she rambled on until placid daybreak, "but how rotten and spoiled you become the next-day my love, being so bittersweet on evenings prior! You my love have created a narcissistic weapon, a warped existence consisting of backsliding ideals and mistaken morality."
Gradual digression diverted us through the wee hours of Saturday night into dawn's sleepless highway of depraved serotonin and forlorn acrobats, were we to awake the next morning? And pay homage to a local delicatessen owner catty-corner to a neighborhood baptist cathedral, the one with those neat stained-glass windows we enjoy every other Sunday.
Rosemary:
Rosary, grief-stricken mother of opaque vestiges, maternally weeping mortal transgressors, "my son is a corpse in repose, they turned his father's house into a den of electronic signatures," Pawnshop street plaza counters tick off and on, unwinding monotonous minutes to frail business infrastructures of commerce and protocol, below skyscraper skylines of shrouded constellations.
"These heartless concubines and their graceless husbandmen, lead self-absorbed lives and children through wide gates of Eden into numb faceless abysses of sweet-smelling purgatory, this bread of life, this subway dough provides unnecessary indigestion to mindless populaces. In frantic rat-races destined to death and disease"- (it is not written that we pray to her)
Its easy and leisurely to be chosen by Satan, all you have to do is open your eyelids. Society moans and pangs along vacated tenements of brick-columned mortar and nocturnal desolation. Austere declamations of lukewarm predecessors abide in painted urban murals.
The pigeon women, and all the pigeon offspring lowly hover around a village epicenter scavenging breadcrumbs and soda-cans: how blessed they are!
Christ came roaring in through the frigid tropics, melting a gaping hole through Israel's hollow equator. The ground-breaker, the game changer- the one and only glory through godly retinas of forgiveness, unconditional love and humility!
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