St. Gertrude of August

I'm missing something here, help me out:
I saw them when I was crossing the village, warming up seconds before the pagan rummage began.
They were confident of each other, flipped with a vouching technique.

Rather giddy and overwhelmed
I heard my name,
I said - I turned - I said: "Yes?"

Lord knows I could see your clay teeth in the shine with:

a Caesar in the making,
a boy helding his daughter, saying: "Alas, bring ice into my mid-twenties daughter", and
a wise willowlike man calling out "I named to salute."

"Oh," - I leaned towards Bernadette: "Let us leave,



our future is kept pure in our sane mind."
St. Gertrude acts: It was pure in the seventh day of The Haze of Augustine
but now the dull bodies serve as a left-over, for another sacrament.

I could not conceive myself belonging here, I grabbed
Bernadette by the hand, I said:
"I can still break another jaw or two."

Our feast is held by a thin line, and struck by lightning.

Bernadette held a rosary with a veil atop her head.
I said goodbye to August: "I leaked my eyes out at your ending."

Storm ahead

"Is this where I once gave up?"

It's safe to say the wind's coming around,
days are approachable and easy to stomach.

But the lines are blurred inside of our pigments,
have we processed the magnitude of our actions yet?

My private ancestor acted wisely,
he buried the words of writhe.

To the tribe I can now say:

"Cut through thick air but willingly,
in this form of selfless defense we bow
with hot iron pressing on our backs"

They were glad to see
I can leave
to prove our minds are sacred
and return
with burdens already burned.


"It's a privilege to tackle the unknown for the tribe in spite of the risk"

Wilma

Wilma Livingston once set a statement.
She killed the man's dulcinea and didn't break a sweat.

"Babe-will-you-stop-calling-him-'love'-I-think-you-will-babe-"

Wilma has pale skin and dark hair, a Cruella-de-Vil in her mid-40's and a hunter with a vision: seeking the finest meat inland, strutting down the street in an inside ache, staring at every man from head to feet assuring the gentlemen she was willing to provide a generous sleepover from her behalf.

Wilma slid smoothly from one mouth to the other, the talk of the city -- she loved it. She was known for being an asset for the boys that wanted an experienced mistress. There she went with her "mother-I'd-like-to-fuck" quality. One that she could carry gracefully.

It was clear to me and to the rest of the folks that Wilma was not one to mess around with.

This is interesting. Did Perpetua know?
Was Perpetua aware of Wilma's vision?


Perpetua attempted to mess with Wilma on a rainy day of August.

She said: "You're stepping on forbidden land
don't try to further into our area"

Wilma smiled and she took three steps ahead.

Before anything was done, Wilma made it clear to Perpetua: "I'm the snake that's been blindfolded"
"Mess and pay."
Oh what a pilgrimage Perpetua Craft suffered.

Wilma is the scent of the devil, murder musk.
A fireblast of lust, a beast on the leash.

She left the room, high-heels atop Perpetua.

It's still raining. The children dance and sing:

sweet foolish woman, baby of the sea,
shed tears in vain, grab us by the hand
Wicked Wilma was once here, she payed and left

we told her, st. Gertrude, we were clear:
if you mess with the devil
the devil itself
will
bite
your
eyes
out,
foolish woman, baby of the sea.



" Baby someone killed my ladylove - he said -


Wilma - a void - this body needs you. "

At Old Billy's Best

He laughed:

"Darling, I clearly don't have any bones left!"

Old Billy sat in a chair in a defiantly poise, beer in hand.
Himself, slightly watery eyes and a cleanse soul.

Coughed.

He said to Rose, who was indoors: "This is the best we've ever looked"


"But I'm staring at the tip of my callous hands and wondering if our joy is ending soon. And wondering aches, sweetheart. It's the matador swording the bull and never looking back."

"I was a child and I used to run by the cemetery of the town. I now look at the cemetery knowing we will someday be a dried up branch inside these cold Sahara deserts longing every tissue of our holy bodies."

If the thought perishes I'll be packing my own self.

"And will our tombstones be together?
I re-arranged all of my teeth, a truce with beings that I cannot touch."

"We will be an oasis. And a voice will say:

The water was warm
even before you arrived."

the Bottom Bell

And because your private fantasy is that of the ancient man that longs the lips of a new girl, she said:

"When the ripeness is warm and dull: that's when you know the children are hiding.
Open the lava faucet it's alright to let the drops hit the pavement."

You said: "it aches the bottom bell and I don't find the sanity in it"

I clearly knew. I knew mate.
I couldn't trust the drawings.


Hands of vanilla
and a sky holding the sunburst


The faucet is broken

but she said "trust the faucet"

So you burst out and did it

And what a blast she had.

untitled 2

If you ask for a way to be explained
This is what I would say:


{Look at the punks, they are saying:

"Music is for pussies"}


There is something truly wicked and dark about you and I have yet to find out what it is.

A flavor has left the room

A martyr knocked an apple down.
Mary Magdalene
from the heavens and down to the mundane:
The arrows pierced all the fruits, a purgatory.

-.--
---
..-

--
..-
...
-

.-..
.
.-
...-
.


I really wouldn't try anything out of the ordinary, we're all being watched


But I wondered,
today and yesterday:


Has it been enough time already for our hearts to start developing more and more and more stories?


"This is the cauldron in which you will let all the stories out, child"
- she bestowed the recipient.


"Oh really."

Short-termed

Sweetheart, go and tell:

Before I turned the page
I got the chance to
in cold ways: breathing
or whatever stands lesser apart from a warm talk
see how you were building up.

I'm bound to say:
You're seven times more committed towards the physical rush of the wind that leaves. I'm seven times more committed towards the rush returning.

Are we leaking already?

Had I known before,
had we met a lot sooner when our decisions were still atop the moon, I would have been seventy times more committed towards your side.

But we're still committed on paper, on strings.
Lesser the howling.