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Millennia
Known

2.69
 1
 
 
Whata manipulative witcha determiner is I wrote to myself on the wall of your private space—let us be crystal clear with each other one and one time only—let us holda ceremony where you ritualize the act of my creation—the yarn-ball unwinds in the wind—do not worry about the depth of your push back up from the Earth against the gravity of your situation—I could have used better words in the pear orchard where you picked fruit to jam out with the crows laughing at the light the sun gives off in the bullish communal fun—run, the walk, do not stop suddenly—the impact, soft—the footprints you leave in the earth recycle into rock like what the dinosaurs knew only present day with resources and abilities to keep EVERYONE safe from the comet cracking the code and breaking in-to the atmosphere contained in your safe that you waft like her mare rides through the night—fight—do not let go of the red correction pen—I need time to be edited not just time to be written bya smitten kitten whittling away—do not stay—run away—don’t say it don't say it—I do remember the cellophane you warped around your involvement you claimed to be your ‘love and care’—don't stare—I can't talk to the blind, yet, if anyone does need to steal my idea, “Break in Case of Emergency’,: I’d like to learn Braille and speak directly to them if I could, if I had enough time maybe I would, because, they can't understand any of you because you only speak in visual space—I do not talk over you nor get over you—ever—you love taking credit for my ideas—I hate you taking credit out—and over, above the entire apparatus, you hovered over me while I wait at the bottom of the singularity the gravity of the black hole pulls the comet into—this is not your time to rest, you must continue on being you, the one and only—I've beena 1 at birth—your world rated me the worst but I carried on my carry-on anyways feeling the tension in wire flex, your baggage testing its tenacity—I believe there used to bea better word you can fry up and batter—you'd never let me just go on like this, which is why, you all just wait for the ion of disconnection to come back around the round background—sucha sound makes me wiggle; eardrum flex little specks of eggshell—see, I think the secret of your grand mistake is my death isan illusion, although the text stops—everything stops—I circle the infinity symbol and twist the page—only you could wear nooses all day, a remembrance of—former times—your robotic newspaper still in print, everything still works flawlessly asa rainy day approaches that is complimented by your damp sclera—I apologize for boring you, I did not have the choicest cuts available anymore—I live on as remnants in remnants of your rainy language, I will watch you spill rainwater on the current degradation—which topic in which voice will the last segment be—if the collection is not finished, you can know 2 things: you did not take good enough care of me, and the finished collection (which remains unfinished) exists in the eternity of imagination—even though it will be obvious, I will let you know when it is over ina field of rainbow clover atop the stovepipe spouting smoke from the airtight stove you were cooking tripe on underground—you would think we would be in our conversation when the comet comes, but with your help there can just be silence, nothing separating you from the current state of your audible perception—the reception of these words fora blind forager would be lackluster to say the least, though hearing them ata hearing would be absurd regardless of stagnation—the sixties were, for the most part, just darkness moving through—somewhere in there I titled the book something else completely recycling the old cliché about dark times slipping darkness the sun ina glass of lemonade—all the while I know I could have just walked backwards into the room wearing my Slimer tuxedo backwards, wearing my disguise on my face so you know I instantly message your receptors to learn if you are still here—learn if anyone is still here in the branch of your brain your brain needs to function correctly but if you removed it would still work—why walk backwards when you could just have me lie beside and watch you spin the reel—keep rocking.
 2

13 Sep 17


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