Monday, September 21, 2015

death is the feeling i name for the bubblegum that's blackened,
squashed into the concrete...and too, cigarette butts in the sand on a sea shore
put out by the high tide. somehow, it selects from what

it's a truth serum. death has no remorse because
it's a risk of an author whose identity lacks, decided

by those who know identity, reinforce identity
because they know they know identity, right? i just want to

touch everything and make sure it became gold
even if it was gold in the first place. is it gold enough?

i cannot forget this. it is not gold enough. it needs
fat and blood and love to survive. and if

i don't get that stuff, i'm gonna die
calling myself needy leechy and dependent.

01: curse the gods that i don't think about enough.
02: think about the past a lot. where is it now? consult

the internet. it knows everything about me, knows me
as the plexus.

it's *trying* to show you the genesis
of things from sideways, rather than pointing to a burned spot, rather
than a meteorite- rather than war-

grant myself relief.
the long term cause doesn't exist right now. i believe

in feelings. they stay. these pangs, obviously, are related
to everything else. let's

ignore the periphery- that's where regret goes, where

i go numb
i repeat
to handle myself so well
to survive

living up to being without legacy....