if i were to trip right now...this is what i would say

“you think this moment is the only thing that binds us”

You think you can unwind, rewind the making of your intelligence, of your crowning.
What comes first? words or ideas? images or auras? Who will you see when you wake up grotesque. again.
Pigs munch on apples, and vegetal debris.
Who will be your pig?

I could draw meaning out of everything I write, but merely shade myself from disappointment.
Rework my tongue in and around the locus.
Where? Oh where does it hide?
I halt/start my beginning. over&over.
You tell me the moment has come. to write. to write and not to fight.
To kill the meaning, to crunch it, crushing the crucible with crying hands and tinny mouths and tongues which reek of aluminum and sweat.

Have I told you how much I love confused pears? or the meaning of a broken palm? Have I told you about your smell? or how much you really mean?

You. Hypocrite.

Acting like you don’t like cherry stained fingers or narrative stained palms.
Nails collecting the debris of your sexual experience.


Have I told you how much I love you recently? In fewer words than this?