Falling, falling, falling,
forever
or is this
G
N
I
T
A
O
L
F
towards a shimmer in the distance
like a wind that carries a dead leaf
whispering through the chimes
that fall upon deaf ears
as if the message was sent
and it just wasn't heard
No, this is f
a
l
off l
the i
precipice n
g
as I watch the sky
march round in a funeral procession
of our history
F L O A T I N G
in this disorienting gravity
S E D U C I N G
in this magnetic propinquity
T E A R I N G
in this psychosomatic schism
every storm proceeds an epoch
of pleasure
as if pleasure
is an
Grecian artifact
in the backdrop of Ovid
The caterpillar
of Like
of Love
of Hate
cocoons into insouciant
vicissitudes
Y.
A
W
but refuses to fly A
