ever walk
the local labyrinth of english
outer-suburban streets...
and pass a point
between a tree and
a fence,
like a ****** bride
walked to the altar
with a lace veil thrown
onto her head...
but instead:
adam ant
"make-up",
feeling a single spider-web
thread,
just below the eyes,
exploring the existence
of nerves
in cartilage?
a single spider-web line
where cartilage ends and
bone begins...
could it be more
spectacular than
the cold wind of the north
sea against the budding stubble
of a fisherman?
come to "think" of it,
this subtle encounter
within the microcosm
of the existence
of aliens
in the realm of insects...
ever walk into a single
thread of a cobweb?
that's as abstract as
walking into A...
or a zukofsky...
boorish about bach...
and not A,
as a dentist's impromptu
to craft a sigh...
sure, it's short of something
spectacular:
in the poetic trenches of
whatever can be reached by words
in the common parlé of
what's otherwise mundane...
that vague aspect of a breeze
that's always warm,
and cannot be deemed a wind...
not exactly a philippe petit moment
walking the tight-rope
between the duo-phrens...
a silk thread of an arachno-architecture
beginning...
so i walked on,
trying to not scratch my nose...
drank my beer, deposited the empty
bottle
into a dustbin,
smoked a second cigarette,
and focused on why i've
been constipated for the past 3 days,
given this heat...
hell...
seems my body doesn't
want to give off any moisture
if i can't even take a **** with this
weather.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
ever walk
the local labyrinth of english
outer-suburban streets...
and pass a point
between a tree and
a fence,
like a ****** bride
walked to the altar
with a lace veil thrown
onto her head...
but instead:
adam ant
"make-up",
feeling a single spider-web
thread,
just below the eyes,
exploring the existence
of nerves
in cartilage?
a single spider-web line
where cartilage ends and
bone begins...
could it be more
spectacular than
the cold wind of the north
sea against the budding stubble
of a fisherman?
come to "think" of it,
this subtle encounter
within the microcosm
of the existence
of aliens
in the realm of insects...
ever walk into a single
thread of a cobweb?
that's as abstract as
walking into A...
or a zukofsky...
boorish about bach...
and not A,
as a dentist's impromptu
to craft a sigh...
sure, it's short of something
spectacular:
in the poetic trenches of
whatever can be reached by words
in the common parlé of
what's otherwise mundane...
that vague aspect of a breeze
that's always warm,
and cannot be deemed a wind...
not exactly a philippe petit moment
walking the tight-rope
between the duo-phrens...
a silk thread of an arachno-architecture
beginning...
so i walked on,
trying to not scratch my nose...
drank my beer, deposited the empty
bottle
into a dustbin,
smoked a second cigarette,
and focused on why i've
been constipated for the past 3 days,
given this heat...
hell...
seems my body doesn't
want to give off any moisture
if i can't even take a **** with this
weather.