Yikes shit

Between the words of many and mine

canyons filled with puddles of meaning

 

Culled and strained and pored poured over

You don’t care, though. You don’t care.

 

Scabbard, bone dry, knuckled through

You hit it over and over again

 

As if this crater spackled over

Were not an exhibit to your craze.

 

This lack makes you not lacking in man

Lies do, though. I’m not an infant here.

 

If I opened a box of shimmering jewels

Meaning would swirl right off of this page.

 

Through the heaviness of perception I trudge back to my bed

A mattress filled with animals nameless

Balls thrown up and down each eye to follow

Like a cat with a broken tail.

I’m fine, I think and I know it’s the truth

Yet some black spot keeps hurting to look

I had forgotten about that book

It is too filled with absolute whiteness.

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