.
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.
.

 

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