dry and entering a shepard tone;
endless summer, sauntering, and my inner thighs are (yawn) raw from the sauntering.
endless spring, thawing icicles into
endless christmas morning.
this is not lavender, this is brighter;
i’ve underestimated everything.
suckerpunched into the bend of me,
deepening my lean to an acute degree,
like balled fist, like fortress, like fetus: potentialities.
wild chance is a hellmouth
salivating—
“a shepard tone creates the illusion of continuously swelling sound, which can build tension or suspense.”
this is an attempt to emulate a shepard tone through poetry