the current world, enclave,
zeitgeist, whatever noun
or subsequent misnomer
you might wish to attach
a canvas for...
spoken back to me?
or, ingesting me with
either "phobia" or "apprehension"
has left... me...
          seemingly
                  aloof and
"forgetful", in that:
        even if i were to "re"engage
or simply: engage with it...
i would scatter in a frenzy
of spaghetti leg tie-ups
of a: malaise for
the general facet of
a **** sapien take to
merely walk...
    i congratulate myself
on the superstition
surrounding the voyeurism
of the cat-walk
   scrutiny...
                be by the buckle,
or be by the nibbling
on a horses' hoof?
          the world: rotondo...
         spinning itself into
a fixation,
    for:
             upkept momentum contra
   the frictive norm
of the static of mountains,
like:
something only a cézanne
could observe!
i have here a world:
worth a nickle and a buckle,
a hybrid of a laughing
horse,
   a timeless scrutiny's worth
of an innocent smile...
a gargantuan giggle
of a sea-faring toddler...
   and an abyss that's worth
the in-itself vacated
by, time;
   given the strict Irish nun
orthodoxy of:
    being kept in-tune
with that grand space of...
                 drowned procelain
dolls, shoved into socks,
thrown into the sea
with a reminder attached
to (what would inevitably
float to surface) them:
of a scythe...
      and what is but one
man before the sea,
with a boot's worth
of licking the heel and a pen
and a page,
the sea itself,
j. m. w. turner: fishermen
at sea...
            an encore
with a scoop of freshly
printed pages worth a book...
ink aroma,
    and superstitions of
oil paints,
     in what has become:
the portrait of the meal:
without either the chef,
or the person about to eat
the gob's leash set loose for
a sensual frenzy
of an "elsewhere"...

i see a mountain i find:
the obliterated maze,
   or as something with
a lost -esque for what
remains both intact,
and a metaphor...

with the sea?
i am riddled by the continuum
of a perpetuated
motion...
and Gaia...
and Luna...
and the envy of Poseidon...
and how the moon
orientates the seas
with tides...
    and what i wish i lost
by not thinking:
i would not forget while
breathing,
and by the similitude
of neither thought
or breath in tow-simultaneously...
i somehow forgot
to sieve myself through
the logic of kept geometry:
                   -ology...
and every other -ism...
which... given the countless
tries to avert:
is akin to the plough of minds
in less a word,
and more a geometric deity
of a square, a triangle...

for the mind a static
in-depth "origin" of a mountain...
for the body a fluid
depth with a lost
faculty of memory,
a satan: an undermining of...
the rot of scholastic
******* and bait bruising
of the rubric in
making the tedious child
the overtly-tedious
employee...

         people speak a too plain
a too spooned a tongue
for me to work myself toward
a tirade for...
              or rather:
i am caught with a lost
guard...
            to fathom their -
blatantly made scrutiny of
teasing-dialectics...

                 isn't monotheism
a... supposed solipsistic god
in the pantheon of all the other gods?
    
autism ≠ altruism...

   but the demiurge is
a solipsistic god...
             and what is red,
is red... but also a tomato
and a ripe pepper...
   and words:
sometimes have to harvest
a cascade...

               format.

yet i find my lips...
moved only by a kiss of a stone...
in that they are shut...
had i the chance to craft
a video...
   but in writing:
i guess i have the last and
the least revealing remnants
of succumbing to a public
shame...

             nonetheless:
open scrutiny...
                           and...
                                      a vacancy.