taking government loans, parental guidelines and flashy dress-skirts made this life unfact and unfiction. Lost in the disabled returns on tax dividends, the world kept calling your name. “Rise up and be born with me, brother” Pablo Neruda inclined-- “Give me your hand from the deep Zone seeded by your sorrow.” it all it all it all ached, an abyss of patience with nothing-- a droplet of sidelined coffee given sentience with ingestion-- all the banal all the mundane all the flowing rock-face moments so presented by society-- in my heart of hearts, in my mind of minds, in my eye of eyes, in my neck of necks, I found pain.... the ache of achey betrayal and the ache of achey loss. In this pain we find repreive from Pollyanna-- reprieve from the false Gods of Evil, the Devil Within your Ex-Girlfriend-- the reason she let his ******* inside. Through all the latency-- through starving streetless sleepless evenings-turned-to-nights I could see death within the sliver of a flashlight beam.. telling me to take the life or leave the life but never in-between-- telling me the pain was part and parcel to the ecstasy of faith and resurrection-- screaming “FLATLINED IF YOU WANT, FASTLINED IN YOU WANT, SIDELINED IF YOU WANT, STREETLIGHT IF YOU WANT” and throughout this evil and this darkness and this nothing -but-a-flashlight-beam, I hear Neruda--