You rest like a dog on the armchair and cover your nose, the folds at your wrists dig madly at my love for you, it guts me and you feel it and press me into the wall
we tossed the severed thunder of the confused state that held us coherent, but not able to get past the apple vs orange question on the mini-mental exam — and it's funny because I've given it to other people and just a few weeks ago I sat in a chair answering the same questions/ been on both sides of the coin, I guess you could say
I can't bit an Apple, because the sounds send shivers over everything and I'd rather die; it's not so bad if I peel it, so I do it because they taste so good: golden, delicious, Fuji, opal
I melt when I'm yelled at, but I'm known for yelling; explain the paradox to me, please help me make it stop I'm yelling, holding an artery under pressure, letting the spillover run into the metal tin and the cow gets jealous and hate me for dirtying where her milk should go
I promise you'll be back in the armchair soon, you'll be in a vacuous level of calm, like chest-deep in warm water — the shit we deal with is something, but none of us knows how much importance to put on top of it/ tomorrow looks like a curve you can't see the direction of, because of snow hypnotizing you through the windshield; one single nerve ( damp with sweat ) gets you home
you wake up to the last bird bothering to use its throat, a tangible imprint of time on has all, I grow sulky right along with the birds and we get lost in wandering through the side of birth, a thing that feels like a rhythm and leaves
you: shaky, with the face of a ghost, you're clumsy, like chickens in those horrible buildings where they walk on top of each other
we innovate, we take a bite out of long-term and feel resultant — the ship docked here and hasn't left since