composition
in the silencing grasp
of contorted tendons
that desire release
in soul-shredded screams
spiralling
into the mind
lead writing
about a red painting
like silk
falling in the dark
and subsuming thought
laced with moments
of absolute aesthetic
glorious last golden
before again
collapsing into ruin
all this
to an unknown beat
despair and the euphoric

to the stinging tones of misery
and the wish for mental stabillity
are bearable only if to remember
the shallow and staid lives
of normallity
are of a long tepid b flat
and if I close my eyes
I am become
of the rise and fall
in complex chemical chords
a literal symphony
of surpassing grace

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