.
Endlessly wordy, verbose, way
too long –
lengthy, discursive, protractedly
rambling,
gambling with losing the audience’s
last
capacities for the abuses to
which their sore
psyches and ears had been rawly
subjected,
shredded and strained to a
murderous brink.
.
How dare I think it would be a
success to
proliferate in this thick slick
mix – this prolix
excess! Wasn’t it what I’d been
taught to do?
When my ovum split into its hells
and its
heaven – thirty-seven-point-two
trillion cells?
How could anyone bred with that
provenance
do fuck-all anything other than
spew?
The first thing I was, and the
first thing I knew,
was an overkill spill from the
one to the few
to the more than I ever could call
into view –
which yet somehow collectively
came to be
Singular Me, as a similar slew became
Singular
.
You. What can you do if you’re made
of
a substance like that, but to
find and to empty
the ark on Mount Ararat – sort through,
investigate every last gopher and
bat – match
every tit with its tat: then take
in the whole,
and see if what you had
assembled was Soul.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment