I try in some way to vet so much
born tragic for a reason. it must be telic some design as opposed to mere
happenstance. there must be emeralds or marquise diamonds or a jasmine trinket.
the sun must be immortal so it must have intelligence or some frequency quite
fatidic. I lose track of the many pains. they just excite in me, some fight as
stumbling into an abyss. like I said, it was nice meeting you, we’ve tested
intangibility, I imagine many aren’t as strong. they act in ways as to suggest
superiority where you watch debating clocks. but a grip on nothing while sustaining
existence in a patch near a field of grapes.
I pluck a pomegranate or pride over
insignificance or listen on a rare evening.
a chair is a great audience a
person is better but a soul, when it appears, must take the floor.
I’m with pictures of me but
pictureless nonetheless at some bridge looking at a halcyon countryside. I’m
close to seven, wiggling centipedes, learning to listen. I come to a well, I gaze
in, I utter some sentence. I feel awake in some sense. I haven’t gone asleep.
but the forest looks huge, and suddenly. I run towards the house, but I haven’t
moved, I hear mother yelping for me. wood speaks by nonmovement. each ridge is
a discussion. trees will bleed in the final hours. I regain composure, we seem
all pictureless, but mother is running faster, screaming my name, it all seems
so frantic. my arm is in her hand. I have eaten some berries. she slaps them
out of my palm. I didn’t eat many. but this is an issue. we’re in the fields of
Kansas. I drank water, took some type of syrup, and was not allowed to rest. so
much voiced in illusion, so many wolves in spirit, so much a native experience.
calendars afar into a special dungeon
alongside a naked gravesite – I see mist as it projects.
