75: Every time I visit you in your mascara I become lucid about fears you strike. Day by day you were food to my life. I see the brilliant live again, sure enough, in vetted dormitories, always have, fudging abasement with rich food and drugs. Sorry concentrates. There you are.

Pleasure and then the transportation of souls and their wealth take place about now.
Nothing for me. I feel like a pursuer of no delight uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..

Starved for a look, now counting it best when the world
may see my pleasure feasting off you, on you dime, thus, on / off your sight...
pursuing peace, all or nothing, with you alone.