Sunday, December 6, 2015

objects. and inconstancy.

forgot that i was kept together inside myself and flirted with it to find it out,
turned it into a shell.

i am shocked and constrained by this- also offended and
dispassionate. trapped-thumbelina unable to flick a snake-tongue out to happiness
in captivity. boo hoo! ruminating. boo hoo! what

was that i noticed when i blinked? where
did it head off to now? will it still be there? eyes open

and only a box and its
familiarities surround me now. thumbelina

is smacked and confuses

true happiness with whitewashed happiness. it really does
abuse us, that autocrat. but you know what, i think

everyone experiences this waking up
after finding out you were sleeping the whole time

during times
of adjustment. it could be

worse- meaning, felt differently- there's plenty
of congestion out there to diffuse

into the mist of, plenty of
gifts to feel pressured into giving; go ahead

and bonk
into other things, blankly,

as a purpose. might as well. not being a lost soul
sure is a lonely feeling. the milky way

needs to exercise her thread in new
each time she stretches that breathing,

that tidal flutter
of that gigantic butterfly, hurting
from impressions of choicelessness over me; what was it

i meant to thread into? it is a box
and the familiarities of this box, apparently. this

reasoning i do not recall. what was i thinking? i want
my umbilical cord back.