Till my <Rikooyous> Marls our Nous
He came alive as the thought of his weakness grew. There were painful admissions made in the chair that never merited sitting time commensurate with it’s worth. Old smoky black lacquer wife poured comfort tongue and taste, two fingered death waltz with negligible ferrymen. And I thank god that it does not present itself in any chillingly sappy way, and that those we love the most we might very well hardly ever know. Glance passers, interloping gassed sentences ululated in a room of groomed senescence.
HE came alive the more he fought himself, touching himself, fighting himself, robbing himself of any sleep, a deep sleep always interrupted at the same time, every night, early day. He realized his worth, and was not troubled by its relative insignificance, but coolly enraptured by it, not trepanned into an oily blue and white drop cloth. Tears moving from cage from ribs to eyes. I am always traveling where I am, and therefore writing more than I will ever write, and for better, for damn better.
- Automata dandruff grief…. Now where is your penchant for using the finest of details to assuage another’s pain, especially an enemy, a weak will o’ the wisp enemy, as most of them are… You move on. But who moves on? How many are in movement? The movement of what poetry might be leaking from their plump limbs… Leached as she said last night, flying in from LA, mimicking her mother’s southern accent: “Graveyard Dead.”… Yuk uk…
But, the world is our Swedish apple peeler. Do you want to