heartmaw set
on edge,
again -

this silly
little head
never seems to rest.

that muscle jus below the breastbone
will get the job done.

it fiends
the headfeed.

awkward holes of
black slowclap,
bentcrouched underneath the seat
of what's left -

yet little small events are there, always (a)waiting
over the tiny, unlit horizon
of thoughtstream eddy screams.

(choice is coy ---
it's sorta yours, except when its not)

eat the emote.
masticate the fury.
break down the snowstatic.
it's unyum, sure,

but,
jus listen,

and
at the
bottom

of the hole
you will
hear the bowl
hum and sing.

lit
space

so light

it will blind
you to
the abundant bads
that has
shot through,
replacing it with
hot shade truer.

it will
let you
defy
and
be

utter space.