~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One's raised Hand finds
"encapsulations." A human
artifacts:
her
stucco hulls of
rows
on platforms
of my vacancies,
loud—[ily] forgotten, silences
sh—urrounding sleepers
in calms a combustion,
of origins
that squat
over there
saying
“squat”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The distance, rhythms
of events, which
it be fills
to------------------------>
Questions, the people,
though the continuity may
I call,
despairing
shaving such concerned, to how
I own here, breaks the other
sequence, in seconds
navigating
with the same gag, gagging
of Life, came back
up to Shut, other interests
in lives, indistinguishable
from our
own
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Faux urgency: "this pre-determined
in old-fashioned
to commence”
body—[ily]
commerce
coerces------------------>
the now having been half-sly
or, leaving since this
Site, signs
“Stay”
to script, shrewd
& broken
work, phrases
willnot
this I
suggest
as of
this age
all
in
jest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time, as [anti]—monotonous,
relentless
suggests flex—[ing]
the Body
into an intersection
or, fine to bits of those to rhythm
rather, rather Point to--------------------->
“I'm making what is called
The In-Between”—[?]
intervals, & empty, wanted the
ache so vividly or,
“be ready to seem
serene”—
But, I'll muck’it’up
before the bore
mess
masses the monotonous
rawlf
of the Daily, relents
my occasions
“picture this
possibility” of threading
the thrōōm to------------------------->
time, punts
clear as
cunt can sum
up my
dreams, coordinating
the How to
arrive in
“wow”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Strangers, alternating
ahead,
Face to Head
shift------------------->to
facing this all
in—[tact]
“if by this, you
mean you
might bring me
flowers
given” to boast or,
won’t—
my Joints
ork or,
did I mean
ache—[?]
[ing]—[&] stared straight in
to yr Face, collapsed
or, didn’t but
I clapped
in a small way
my Hands
meet Silence, rocks
to
setting this Mouth, to
moan or,
binged to removal or
tooth to took to
now we change, the
event, so
subject—[ily]
I
persist, since to
feel, “the
alone” is to
feel, how
leaving it all behind
infers
what they, the ones
can’t, so you
thunder, your
thunder thy
accompanied
this to disappear
in my own
great
blunder
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dying, in
who’s season, laying
on point this
Body, through—[?]
Leaves, in non-resistant, stench
objects to “Pinch
me right
here” sequentially
to the
withered in September’s
slow
rowing
slouch
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
