Where lines are weighed down upon ...
scrawled heavily on
see-through creatures all crowded together
patting each other with fluid-like skin,
padded-lined arms and shoulders
in motion of approval sagging, aging,
bruised and bumpy in places
of blackened spots, transparent.
Their colors are pale shades of decay
cold and tired and I'm afraid to say
what just comes out of a conditioned response
to what stimulates and invokes ...
I am afraid ... that I am .... not ...
Some of the darker shades are almost red ...
Red 'being' is not like red at all,
but a gathering of lines persuaded by
swift forces that vibrate
through a still-spectrum only perceived.
I am silent.
I feel violent.
Inside this echo-parade ...
Everything swells ...
This rhythm of noise, mingles
to comfort what joys are conceived
when I look into your eyes
and I want to know everything!
I am here ... crawling around, groping
for the numbers to recite
from an age where I was a Master
of no word describing their usage.
All things being uneven.
Hair grows, skin ... flakes
lines cover the fortress -
The wreckage ...
For a long time, as only these words could consume ...
These things are not really true.
Just the babble of the outside emptiness
contained within some entity
too large to be reckoned with.