axle

wrapped too out of my mind / slowly moving away from daring detail / it’s novice / it’s done / i am a clamato in some dive / a digitouch screen played by an old fag, all day /

grabby hands and solo stares, grey and greasy river water smears two hours together / we make tin cans of our hearts or self-deny until we’re quietly insane / one or the other /

and i am now the lost n found box, neither lost nor found / full o’ grubby gloves and scratched glasses / i am shattered axle on side of road / shovelled amongst slowly dying snow piles /

it’s easy to be stuff / :

imaginal mysti-bodies out there running lives we dream / that are somehow as real as our own (if we always come back to them) /

but they slowly smash their mold and maker / fated with disaster / it’s no surprise / stuffing dirt down the mouth of reason for as long as we can /

we’re not individuals / we’re dominos falling exactly as we should; horribly and uniformly / the wall gets closer and closer / a tea kettle lies at its base / cracked in half, steaming /

do you know how messy it would be if we all followed our hearts’ desires every day? / differently, fervently, focusedly, joyously, innocently? /

a mess /
i wonder when we’ll all get there
/

4.13.17

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