What are these words i pen?
This ink that flows soft
and quickening?
Are they bound to the page,
as i am?
i am a metaphor for nothing,
encompassing everything:
i wring out my
tattered pineal gland
on the daily here,
photons approaching singularity,
crossing over,
destruction, creation, absolution.
Equation.
Scattered, collected,
i am scribbling.
Scrabbled.
Fractalized.
Shivering as i gain coherence,
endothermic inside,
socially exothermic.
Runed.
Indecipherably explained.