Interior of daylight

Admired in the rush, you must
feel it, how air conspires
to hurl you inside yourself,
on the bed of panic
your skin webs all around
and the vibrations
of familiar widows
bleeding husbands out,
you must feel that now,
in the rush Golgotha
was a martyr of,
the pleasant shiver no
one of this century feels
but the bone-gristle
you ground up grinning,
for you felt it feeling
you how the ibis licks
itself, that stuff of urns
bangs back joy how fisticuffs
haunt boys, you feel
the century inhabit you
and you another
when the compromise comes
of passion and sentiment,
when the arid consciousness
and father of lunacies
tucks you in at night,
though you feel it is day,
for genius harbors solitude
and solitude sight.

~ by Jeremy on May 15, 2013.

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