…lost in the mounds….

Typed influenced by coffee, and loss, and

and ocean thundering away

about 250 yards

to

my left…

The flamingo ages, rages, and doesn’t give up on the pages that sit in an acid proof shed… a place of storage, a place o mold, and unfinished business. A tiny structure free from technology any more advanced than a plow made of stone. A place to know. The tree of catharsis… you know you needed that axe, and those arms to swing it Iris… you needed a moment to be violent.. and the pine, it never complains. The waves are higher than ever now like salty wet and cold flames erodin me, like an ethereal loofa that scrubs ones soul away bit by bit, rinsing it into some random oblivion…

Just wanted to explore a bit, never meant to follow the pit to that particular low point, or that moment of having absolutely nothing to look forward to, nothing to blame anymore, and the loss of even the will to grin at the irony that I had really fucked myself this time… the one leg that had supported my feathery leathery pink frame was quivering now, caffeinated, and scaly, pink faded, not enough shrimp to much Caveperson….

The conscious stream became polluted with a delusion thicker than the accent of the Hungarian with cotton mouth and half a tongue…

A well, full of this nearly tangible hurt, that feels like a rope in the throat, a terrible pain, beautiful and universal ( my my I hope someone feels like that at some point) alive, Corrigan said it well. Freely, no plan, no beginning, no agenda, with roaring in the ears that comes from fevers, of course you don’t want to be from “Russia” you think that it is a bad word over here… not in these ears, for they were selective thru the cold war, or the last several seconds of that imagined state… still believe that threee to five people or families control everything about everything? No, they cannot control the radiance of the sun, the purpose of every gun and the lives of everyone… its so sad, such a twisted pitiful and hopeless outlook, you deserve better ol friend, what happened? I know it was rough, things I can only pretend to empathize with mustve driven that black heart home, lodged in the persistent pessimism that unshakeable will to remain depressed….you can have it, im getting out, im a free… i stand on one leg…

Ms. Stanley, I presume?

Then its back to her, I bit her on the back, not to bleed but to let me go… its my path into that abyss, here is your lanyard, here is your parachute, I don’t want one… I must see what happens when my own thud reverberates thru this glass prison and out into what is left of this mess we float around in…
not your fault Iris, not my fight, nor my place to fix you… for you aren’t broken you are flat now… and I cant decide if I would care, even if could still see you loving anything besides what you Have to… if that’s all you can love, tis better than nothing, tis better than me, and that bite on the back… don’t take it personally…

RagingFlamingoConcentratedFandingo

Cram and that night of Avril LaMean, then just let go…

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Published in: on December 26, 2011 at 11:09 pm  Leave a Comment  

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