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Lanyards God runs from here to fantasy
Stars beading on their lines between
So many cast, and the heights and their screams
And I wait behind, with the moon,
Something about Gravity of Death
And the weight of daydreaming
It's made of freight trains and monsters
And runs on alcohol in the night
I beg sunlight to burn it alive
But this mechanism will not die

Horses, or the universe experiencing valor
I wish that was where I dreamed
At least I am still given to expressions
It’s the only art with teeth
My mother, mothering at my sister's fringe,
ruptures, shatters into
a million billion decibels of cry, of
tear, of scuffed skin
and now milliseconds that don’t exist.  
Slipped the precipice and my sister spins,
shrinks into the bleary nothing
emitting dissolute rubble of unknown origin:  
tea leafs; wasp wing, comet teeth,
God; what little dusk is edible;
text in rain drops between the feet.

Only cerebations are me.  
Infinity tanks of chrome machinery
The rest is my sister's Gravity,
Dandling
Mankind scratches understanding
From my skin
Infants, tadpoles screaming to get in
Their constellations; Parádeisos, Sins
Statistics; the scientific grifting of
Anodes of nature and streams’ rhythm;
Cartesian cataloging of mollusks mad with chemicals
The sycophantic sums of decibels
Swirling the universe into a vestibule,  
Carving terra cotta rose hips and angels
Into Cathedrals and the arches we contrive
Along a bone and balsa wood universe breathing,
Rumbling with the Gravity of God
Firing marble turbines in the basement of Time

I am Apollo to Dionysus to apricot wine
𝔗hey did this biopsy of an angel that left flesh recusing me
and it is flesh of a brain whose synapses never ceased
the tightrope ballast explosions like when we are infants,
the cells continue to believe.  
They never acknowledge Gravity.
But In the half-arclight of childhood
there is an end and the shadows outnumbering
everything,
I am my mother and father disintegrating
So I can only breathe
My Blood full of fish and sharks preying on Eternity

I thought God was a toy my grandparents gave me
45
Bone is stardust with effort
A sick suckerfish in my chest thrashing  
Tricuspid valves devouring butterfly muscles
For ash; for  the landed gentry of infinity
My lungs thatch mightily
Instrumental strings of humanity
Struck on the clock, God’s stillborn face,
the Universe just trace architecture of
Fear,
Adorned with misfiring hemispheres
About the rear of daylight with
molecules agreeing to be me
To spin my heart for the dreams
Weaving Sin from iron ore
Gravity forges
In chapters of toil and discord
Dear Lord,
I am hymn from the vestibule
I am your only rule
𝔗hey did this biopsy of an angel that left flesh recusing me
and it is flesh of a brain whose synapses never ceased
the tightrope ballast explosions like when we are infants,
the cells continue to believe.  
They never acknowledge Gravity.
But In the half-arclight of childhood
there is an end and the shadows outnumbering
everything,
I am my mother and father disintegrating
So I can only breathe
My Blood full of fish and sharks preying on Eternity

I thought God was a toy my grandparents gave me
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