Piano Weighing Upon The Skies

come eat a gnat, try into something existential, but the gnat is the trauma. something gruesome, causing havoc, looking, searching, sameness, some metaphysical poltergeist—with hell to pay for each word used. the bleeding of the cycle, the immunization, the desensitization; so cruel to hurt the one beloved, so quickly to slander our goals, too swift to do what hurts self and others. but preaching isn’t sufficient, or it tends to alienate, many becoming troubled by anxiety; the blues in the satellites, the curse in the berries, the feud in the torment—to have adored like living was forbidden. a band on marijuana, liquor vetoed, with nothing but passion for one person; a stranger to myself, affluent in nothing more, aside for adoring like compassion is illegal. the zeitgeist of the beloved, the distance between self and matrimony, the field of mementoes begging to attach to the beloved. saying so little, it can’t be poetry, and prose is pushing it. it must say something. it must be edgy. this sounds for criteria. as it stands, no one can worship like a woman, to go so in debt, as to flame throughout the universe. Notre Dame chants, a soul on violin, a fallen angel flipping through oceans and dreams, so pluvial upon the cosmos. saying nothing becomes evident, with something slipping out, at some point striking a nerve.     musical and dance or liquor and jazz, so simplistic, it starts to churn, or so complex, many frown at the presence.     many inadequacies, many more privileges, such a paradox—to adore her with zeal, or to dislike her with fever, so simultaneous as to need her like an infant.