Monday, September 24, 2018

under the see

At certain sounds I shut my eyes as if I was a place to hide. The nights go crazy, what with all the ambiance, rags, bones, and bottles. The whole contentious retinue and their penny ante capers. There’s never any peace inside, so I leave me in the dirt. Without me to kick around, there’s hardly a bother at all.

Deadened thoughts and lead lined senses. The claims of erasure never sufficient to stay the sentence. Every word a hole to fill, always with more words. The conundrum stumbles, the tongue trips and glides. Sort through the rubble, pick your favorite pieces. Scan the shelves and choose your weapon.

The noise a need when the need arises, the noise a mark on the map of the mind. The name gets further every day. Open your eyes and slip on this skin. Loose the words that burn. This vessel of the invisible. This curse of laden claims.

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