For What Its Worth
Mindfull of a parallel sequence
we seem to function light between
thought and hurt hoping for
easy advancement up the channel steps--
pecarious invoking with someone who
knows--- and not knows inescapable from
ourselves compliant (fraud) if need not be.
Backwash of hidden intermittent terrors preclude
external sensitivities---like my aching back
heat waves of generalized dizziness and
gender--izing. The sweet bird of youth
never suffers a jet lag stupor as we enjoy
and (softly) murmur the last rungs in a
flaccid present tense loss of self faculty.
But the nevertheless picture of realitivity
lends a jargon journal future sometimes
nameless but (at least) omnidirectional
happenstance.
Copyright © Dave Collins | Year Posted 2013
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