To take respite in form

is to mend the chaos

To sift the miasma

is to inhale fulfillment

but my mind does wander in spirals of shells

born on the backs of snails

 a cyclical embrace

that holds                    and ruuuuuuuuuuuuns


Careen into torrents of bile inside this stretched skin won’t come off it burns to touch the interior of me fireFireFIRE words stomp into my brain “32 white horses upon a red hill first they champ then they stamp then they stand still” I read Riddles from The Hobbit to grown-ups relish in the perplexity of adults

In The Dark.

Play pretend mischievous children kobalds all greedy guarding secret treasure troves of generosity dancing in dragon’s skirts our Nurse-maid breathes magma Intellectuals brainwash the Self and the Lass eats rocks

to pray. I lie.



The answer is:



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