because of the burden i carry
thy of thee being too
flavorful
too neareth the maiden vagina of
feeling
i am
ignorant to carry
thee plasma of
comprehension other than on thy
meaty fleshen inverted

to upon
gravity
the rest bails & yales
to the origin unkept
and i am only
to hope it recycles
for the chance in me
to get it coming around
again

but only in a new fashion.

she or he must then wear a different
dress to match within thy time

a derby would
not suffice

surely you cannot get away with just covering thy thee loins.

Asunder
up under don
quixote of never should
for if you don't
come on me you must
be broken
my hymen
ness

let me revel under thy hood

speak to me tongueless
have it be colored
in cunninglessness
if i rampant any more cunning i must not be
coming out less wanting

oh the trash of your gape
oh the thrash in your gait
you said nothing to me in mention that
dear gravity is in waiting in pleading

oh
the brevity of the late news in yesterday
which was already a day late

death is & death was death to be
have it all
come see

the rot and the glory
the excuse & the story
the sample & the offering
the plane & the train

i am never to
"no"

as i know too much
i kiss every lip as i am never
quenched
in moment
i am a fool in suffering
i am a lone in groping
sit and with only
the wind and a river
a tree that is stretched eye sight away

i am calloused
i am masked then kissed
i am beaten under my own drum
i vibrate within my own hum
i am in a dirty hoard of flesh
i am less than the rest
my fingers regress into my bones
my nerves ask me to live
alone

ages & pages
docile & turnstiles
rust to a creaky ebb of web to the vixens of
neanderthal

i have reproached the paint on
fingers & toes
but not of
concrete & flare

i dare i care for all to see
i see i cannot comprehend
i cannot see anything to its end
i do not know beginning
i am unfamiliar with middling
the knob is at ten & i know not when we use
four & seven as kindling

i am kind out of
fear
to a consequence i know not of
which is exactly why fear is in place in a first last and between place

on my face is torture & red
wide opened nasals so i can digest every gas
as is for temporary static for the process
i am stagnant
i am bereft

the soul spirit & stool searching
is irrelevant

i am not in the car
the car is in me
me
i am willing to evacuate the system of the
city

alas
i know nothing of seed or tree
except for what i read on aged well tree
or papyrus leaf
about the life & times of the birds & the bees
i am black & white
i am tongued i am tied
i am layered i am tiered
i am faceless i am beard
i am girl i am boy
i am weaponed i am a toy
i am checkered past i am striped allegory
i am inconsequential i am the reason for death
i am the torn sofa i am the open door
i am the history of nothing i have read before

i am ready for death but my biology
preaches scared
there is a line drawn
between
life & consciousness

to feel is not to process
&
to process needs not feel

brimstone is man made
&
the clouds are not my glory

i am fatherless
i am mapless
i am thoughtless
i am love too much
i am death overappreciated
i am a distance i cannot see overconsidered
i am the footing over the ground over
the worms between
the woven of material
this is not unlike
me in so many unconscious ways

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