Sunday, February 21, 2021

Mountain Hat: Brush Cane

 

alone inside, so comfy aside, or adrift a delusion. it gets right or medium while a soul (desires) more. a tale about discomfort, like conscription, a mind made bosky.

            I felt pain it seemed unreal a man might repay his entire life. so smart so unique while so see-through. the village is stale winds are odiferous we play a dear game.

            I met a person I never spoke I seem so talkative. but a vault keeper but heavy into trauma while performing like nothing happened. a bit to cheers but let’s be honest too much rain will flood the neighborhood.

            inside a funny bone looking intently at one staring at carpet. certain realities while we never know unless one is careless. a fragile antenna a filthy intention while some are authentic. eating marshweed, into a hyena’s dreams, as popping out like a grim reaper.

            I spin silk or sit steadily while listening to something crumble at its detonation.

            we might feel mercy but never certainty while a person looks cheerful. such alienation but so close while it feels like the Jaws of Life; stripped from his bowels shredded from his loins while patient to outlive another’s fermentation.

            I would sit in essence reading a magazine wondering how we exist. such indecencies or futilities at a long ride to Spain. some creature where looks aren’t definitions insomuch as needing her orientation. what channel what conduit what resistance?

            by double shame while bouncing back, for some it doesn’t register. a fuse into a candle a wick into a human a desert for lunch.

            I determine a few as perfected in imperfection while honest enough to hurt us. so simple it seems so egregious she seems while life might prove a dear friend.

            the mental influx those decaf signals while caffeine might scream at us. a gesture in subtlety as to adore in subtlety or such dedication to provoke hypersensitivity.         

I’d Save The Reader Years

    The beat becomes sickness. A long crucible—a drilling ecstasy. I was losing focus, feeling forbidden, if to self, if to mirrors. So curs...