In the culvert the crucifixion is another
discipline,
a bureaucracy
that I no longer believe in faith or vertigo
but there will be droughts and
veneer parquet floors in deserted
homes
while the pressure of overcoming guilt
is a struggle on its own and
the fear of a parallel rupture
assorted with emotional trauma because i've already given a
closure for you to hold
onto

- G

the vault of your sunshower
augurs
meticulously that the widow beside you
is reading "Les complaintes" by Laforgue
and then you effortlessely mention about the Perihelions
and estuaries,
with a clear sprout of conflagration
but don't forget that the following morning
you will need a warm cup of water with a piece of lime
to remind yourself about
ethical morals and fictional horizons

- G

the chokecherries have indentified the intercontinental blues that
eyes have averted towards Cornelius
the Centurion
while in your study room
you've realized that "our godforsaken Titantic dreams were never rehearsed or disembarked but
they were countless overwhelming
excuses of cardinal
hotel bedroom visits and "advection"
from obscene
choices to orbit around old conditions "the inquiry of
a riddle extending its meaning"

- G

the cauterization has tangents of confessional conciliatory
and misnomer that "we are drawn together"
by a masonry honeycomb
where there are inacessible railways
in my "refrain with your summer rain"
that I'm comprehending the interference between
failures and a knowing glance
of when your shifting in bed demanding that
you touch a memory
documentation a year from now
even if the sun is melting onto a projection of apothecary
addiction

- G

the quotations are phases
from "maldaption and urgency" to carnal a glass of
pinot noir
that nothing is correspondent or vociferous; but I had reality
explaining this is not the way to live with 'detailed confusion'
I held onto a predilection
reddening dawn and a distinct revelry along side techniques and melancholics
mishearing about the london life,
meanwhile it's a different situtation at home, and I need
a dictionary to emphazie the
term psychological trauma, because
the mourning is yet
to arrive

- G

the portmanteau has eloquence,
evocative imbrication that
iced espressos & Italian romances are rosary complexities of constricted wants
hushing the bipartisans;
that
I theorize poinsettia's
on a careened need of "fermented" relief
while my nervousness is suggesting you to pick up the suitcase
and believe every word spilling from my mouth
you used to intricate/ scythe
and the interior now contrasting in
a winter tangerine
containment, "alleviate pheromone" to inhale
another vision that wasn't even close
to believing


- G

the incipient
has salvaged the insides of a
censorious pastiche, where moiety details the nightstand
of expectation and sudden camaraderie
simplifying the closure of starvation that “promethean”
is visual ‘orange zest’
a
honeysuckle caramelization where there are two
romantics buried with guilt, and a master chess player that
recalls to be a citrus therapy and every "Sunday paper" is filled
with oceanic opulence discussing religious iconography
and I visualize a yellow moon cactus
obscene changes in a grey prolific office;
an expostulate (rescind) but avoidance is in an empty
peach pit; an exploitation becoming a strange
admiration

- G