Too much. now i’m anti-work. make me a jerk?
both feet in hurt. i’m looking at verse, a new
one– my therapy; reflection, stare at me. can’t bare
to be this light. sleep, too far away, in night. new blithe.
ado, right. but what’s wrong? it’s provoking more song.
the end spark, I disembark. ghettoized mental parts, from
soles to where the dental starts. i could just call, quit.
instead I’m in a stalled fit. still as the doll sits. candles,
all lit. no time 4 extensive paragraphs, apprehensive,
scared of graphs, conveniently molded mathematics.
artist extremist, aesthetic addict, equilibrium, thought
i had it. rediscovered magic from anvils tragic. hardly
placid. approached and judged by vapids. smothered
in their rapids; my vortex entails more less; now set
in my vexed mess. finally awake at 33, averting trees
that fail to please. re-situate what I before abhorred,
not an issue late. read through years of notes for any
hope of anecdote. drone in ozone for big brother jokes;
sip again b4 i flip and send a manuscript missile and
drizzle truth; reverse face to boot. replace uncouth with
roots rooted, protruded …