If I get to the point where no ones’ love embroiders me,
I’d mix the oil, the clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams.
Then simply voice it, & wholeheartedly agree.
Tend to wounds, but then forget the ointment/gauze.
Intensely consoling. The pensive motions.
Embark through the darkness and depart from my esteem.
That’s the only thing keeping’ me going,
from disease the fleeting emotion you feel in your bones.
Like, deceiving, but more than, deceptions a curse.
It’s a deceptively curved timeline, where perceptions a blur.
It’s the way you make tye-dye, entrenching the shirt.
You mix a bunch of complexions and spin in reverse.
A fissure, hypnosis, once the colors combine, a mixture, fists closed-in,
a fuller divide. Null, but awoke. Dull, not asleep.
Where the knots in your stomach turn to contortionist schemes.
It’s full-blown. Bow-ties and croissants. An assortment of odds,
mathematical rain-cap. Getting even to stay glad, even after the pay-back

One thought on “

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s