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Rowing (and an adjacent poem)

Heart palpitations of a rotting ribcage and sounds that crawl these walls

I sink into subliminals while a pinprick pain persists, hand in hand with vices

Which keep the sunlight from reaching my retina, bloodshot blurry spurts of

All The Same

Endless spirals of sleep so deep it domineers all yet when awake I’m always on my toes

Seems as though I’m never myself for long enough to explain, or to forget, or to amend

Realisations of peering through a microscope lens, mistaking it for a whole other universe

Where the stars don’t burn out and the void has an eventual end

Nothing matters anymore but the chase, the eventual mortality you found in finite sources

The antithesis to what your valiant efforts are attempting to avoid

Still, my midnight bus is due and has been for centuries

If you hand me two coins to alleviate these blurry spurts of All The Same,

Place them gently so my retinas can rest, I can dream in black again

And I’ll row myself there

Shucks! (Rowing pt2)

Inside, I am a husk. I am deep, hollow

Shucks! (my exterior)

Oh oh, I am neither who I was, or who I hoped to be

I am plainly me, skin. Skin knows pain all too well

It is made to receive it, feel it, process

As if I am an industrial apparatus, a corn mill

Skin asks for divine intervention – eradicate me, all

I do not wish to fly, to fall, I wish to be embraced by black

And forget the part I play, my duties to a dystopia

Of corn manufacturing. Shucks, I say!

I await, coin in hand, final transaction

Row me over this river, away, brief Death Angel

Must be under an hour now, and I sink

Though I wish to stay as I am, forever, until.

I am patience, it becomes me

Impatience, thereof you craved for so majorly!

I understand you now boy, and your east-west ways

Immediacy, is it?

I want it all and I want it now

like god

The promise of betterment, a night owl’s talons drawing blood, The haze of tomorrow, milky eyes of a predator that slept too little The haunting in a house of cards, packing vermilion onto dewy cheeks

Dissolute Sanguine

To perceive is to digest, and to digest is to warp beyond repair; Do not perceive that which you do not wish to be warped. i) Cessation of self prompts the veiling of mirrors, And a vampiric urge to l


It is that spectacular night sky that, shameless, spread before the eyes of the Lord, lures me to all the corners of the cosmos that I've yet to touch, bound by a sense of child-like innocence. It is


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