Declare War on the Past, Sometimes It Snapfires Back!

A mistress I still miss once told me this:
“English is harsh, brutish and short.”
I told her, “No, that’s LIFE’s sport!”

She was so distinguished.
So distant.
So unfinished.
I flow in instances.

Once fits, a moment to sit?
Then I’m with it, liquid to count.
Slip the synergy by the ounce.
Tip my energy quick to pounce.

My risk in every mistress to mount:
To be fulfilling the wish whispered in the first round.

This the groove of me,
I rue and value equally.
Under scrutiny, as Captain Mutiny,
Always due to see the opportunity,
To truly set right the ground.

I stepped light around,
A million books piled on the floor.
We let the night astound.
A zillion looks and miles we rolled,
Always willing on a smile
For one more.

Sparkly chronic hooks,
Blundering through ill flow
Archie Comic books
Under my pillow.

To match the stack
On the floor staring me back?
It was a rocking fit, as opposites attract!

She said the written condition of words screwed her soul.
For the tipping towers of first-to-ripped editions none were so beautiful
As the delicious hours of tipsy movement, uncontrolled.

Never so free.

So I set it as my duty
To one day raise my play
To handle this language so unruly
Mangle the bloody history,
Entangle the ruddy victories
And by candle if somebody wishes for me?

I tried to finish what I couldn’t start when I was young.
Not to diminish this art I spun from my tongue,
But you and I couldn’t create shit.
A blue escape relationship,
I guess it wasn’t our fate to taste more than this.

Kiss the wind old friend.
I tried to fulfill your first wish,
Make English pretty again.

I’ll grow old with grace
But as I once told, that place
Will everflow and never end.