i need a place for my real mind.
think of a song when we speak it won't be in words. in dreams.  the earth is hot and smoggy.  i feel pain today.
the pain of dismissal and the rejection of my mind so generously proffered to others.
you ramble she says, and so.
the fact of being a prodigious reader always, means copious words do not scare me.  and the request to leave one out.  the command: stop writing.  the gag---do not speak.
expression restricted.  and command: don't jump the gun.  the prophecy, you will alienate people with too many ideas, as if they are stupid. as if my mind were too much.
i m not so pessimistic.

the loneliness of the intellect, the pain.
a pain mitigated in mind, through mind and hungry starved to tears.
and that i walk i do so in faith, but hours later did not know the pain would be so great.  i'm sorry for not saying something, under this golden nightmare of sun and smog, bye bye, with eyes.

rely on the messages of dreams.  two dreams so clear.
one beside me, comforting, near. and music.
and another dream, an impossible feat, a smile with teeth, so many teeth, an ear to ear grin, euphoric and with mischief, and a transpersonal elision.
as though myself from another era, it is the other but so like me at sixteen, grinning, as to belie the utter similarity and the force of this smile. like a ghost unsituated in a photograph or like the direct face and transmission of knowledge.
and where this smile sits, and the gentle reliance, upon our silent communication.
my beloveds are the least of my worries with minds so still the same and wild we are as one person transpersonal and profound, and therein silence speaks us together.
the others i wish for them too, that they share their dark world with me whereby, waterboarded, starving, our ideas are as one.
she is in my throat like an idea, a tattoo.  i realize the ways of spindle arms, and silence it into the grave of my heart, tomorrows, end of sentiment. Auschwitz.
whereby kisses, i love you, faces, sorrow, care, concern, and thanks.
and the fangs sunk deep into the wrong meat, toughened by declensions, tearing to shreds illusions, as though they held force, tearing just to tear.
loss, clear as point of salary, authority.
california is a prison, the gas smog slow death, concrete, plaster, and the remnants of human life, as torn through our war ways, like refugees, fleeing through concrete corridors to demise, demise writing, fragments of concern.