lyrics
I miss the levity of the sky always falling.
Of monsters being easy to define.
Your teeth are sharp leviathan… but so are mine.
Time bites into our telomeres gnawing holes into my wings.
I'll suspend my disbelief, songbird,
But you can still sing.
Black box approximations of some natural world,
Where the watercolor everything waits for my return.
Dripping exosmosis I come home:
Weathered veins, chest pains, bitten bones.
Excitable, shaking, truth stretching thin cutaneous.
Containing myself where do I end, how do I begin?
They were so small, they held onto their skin.
And their seizing paternal instinctive
drowning response suspends their animation.
Anthropomorphism is strictly a work of their fiction.
Thetic, antithetic, synthetic.
“Long ago, a withering wind roared across the ocean and became entangled in the limbs,”
our unlikely hero begins, “a fracture at the axis facilitated the divorce, and, tossed to and fro with tremendous force, I became detached.” He continues, “the perilousness of becoming aware of your own unreliable existence is a feeling that’s hard to express with anything other than vacuousness.”
The sliding from my sheath,
The blade of my leaf,
The peril of my body.
Befell our crestfallen one with anagnorisis, revealing an arcadia where symptoms are asymptomatic, and descent to the abyss is impermanent. And so it is, and so it was, and so it will always be.
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