I grog twigs (unconsciousness),
puff metal speakers (consciousness), loud like imperfection (Flintstones).
I listen to unclarity
attempting, nay, obsessed, to open murky wind chimes.
too much brain fog—to
work, kleptic to achieve it
—it comes to pass.
alarms cage, guts
enflame, such attitudes towards winning. what an infrastructure, the loudest a
fence, too insecure for the saddest to care.
mind television, milky
flesh, it turns in circles. chocolate Egyptian, caramel Ethiopian, the pain is
more perception. as kites soar above, as cows are worshipped, a soul gazes,
grazes, at the heel print of his assumptions.
the
redundancy of origami, the trope of more joy, the cuffs of alienation. it meant
so little, it became so much, wobbling to bars, picked like grapes, infused
like Ezekiel.
sparked
on firewood, unexplained to sub-instincts, to exact a sudden kiss. the fringe
of interior, to grab like sinning, headed to oneself. a pack of briers,
thickets with voices, lost in a puddle of sweat—screaming, naked, in a small
room, saw more in plaids than colors.
faceless,
placeless, pictureless; a blackman, maybe too much, maybe it depends on
factors. to adore with hinderances, the hedge so high, most crawl under.
