I sometimes feel like I’m still that nine-year old kid sitting on his bed, staring down infinite space, holding a sock in his hand, which must be embarrassed by now, waiting this long to be put onto one foot or the other. Getting ready? Hardly. Some things never…I need to rearrange my Geistmöbel so for to get around the organizing I gotta do for an oversight review. Only then can I manage to see. Why? I’ll never…
Anthropoid as arthropod, between branched bacteriological beatitudes, coarsely concave, delicately devouring dense debris, environmentally exclusive for fomenting phylum forgone forever, growing great Gaelic-Greek gone gabby-
historically heavy, his insecticidal incidence jumps, keeps loosely libidinal, mark'dly medicinal, man-morphed meningeal mollusks marching madly naked over opportunistic organisms of our own ontologically predatory person present per quota-ranked psychological synthesized symphony swooning to tunes' toxic tabletop tyranny ultimately underneath vicious volcanic variance wearing, weathering, wondering,
yonder-year
yearningzzzz
