thousands of …


thousands of points of light converging, diverging

until the beat progresses to non-beat

and then beat again

and it beats be bloody


until I can reach forward into the light

not grasping,

{more like fingerpainting}


all over the blue- and grey- and sometimes aquamarine-



sometimes I taste it 

{when I can swallow the metallic sheen away}

and the perpetuating perpetration of a paltry panic


seizes my deep

and i laugh, 

knowin’ the salty sundry couldn’t be more than


everything i never dreamed




“it’s wishful thinking

for the whole human race

(or whoever)”


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