i am the red madonna, yes, the hunchback lady, the product of holy incest. i reign my own fields which wind up reigning themselves. say the justice of my heart blows in several directions or none at all. one might agree it's plainly inevitable that one might search for a god in centering; an idealizing; an idea.
i want to fly everywhere, a blind graceless bat with a baby bat in my pouch, but i am scared. i worry i am okay with conformity, however, i like to insist that the brain can believe in "oppositions", 'kuz the brain isn't gonna call them that. the brain did not invent the system of oppositions, of the safety in extremes. i also believe in uncomformity as much as i can, uncomforming at my seams to the best of my ability. i am expected to believe in everything or anything i sense as reality, as a gift from the soul. i'm working my way toward doing that.
"save the appearances! is it not enough
to thrill a heart that cannot bear the truth?
what if you are stupid or indifferent?
mask or sham, your beauty i adore.