My Girl Amari

Amari, pale and mixed in waspish repose,
like someone I think I know,
but don't know if I know
for the chance literally escaped me.

But what do I know, as I'm just a dead beat
with a tiny core of logic all my own,
fighting to dodge the captivity of ignorant birds;
their busy beeks tearing at my heart.

And still it's there,
and always will be I suspect.
The quandry of decision
And the great chance of loss from either fork.

Will I have that word with the old man at the gate
in that Kate Bush quantum manner,
watching him recollect what I'm yet to anticipate.
And he, with the dulling of years, regurgitates.

But what do I know, as I'm just a dead beat
with a tiny core of logic all my own,
fighting to dodge the captivity of ignorant birds;
their busy beeks tearing at my heart.

But Amari, you know what others should know
as you lay there between sheets you'll never lay between
and tell me that my heart has been destroyed by honesty
and made low by love.

And Thank You Amari, for telling me what you're telling me.
That mine is a concern without end,
save for my own end.
A concern of brutal energy, quaking the foundations of the earth,
correct, and powered of tears,
made to mean nothing by the chirping of ugly birds,
flying the routes of Khazarian masters.


But what do I know, as I'm just a dead beat
with a tiny core of logic all my own,
fighting to dodge the captivity of ignorant birds;
their busy beeks tearing at my heart.

BDKR