#2229
~for Thomas, , who makes his case, with a smallish W.~
—————-
but with braggadocio intensity,
careless pressure, push on, to when is the end,
pick a notion, drown in sweet and salty potions,
pick a word, push aside when a better one comes along to take a ride;
the metered metronome is in my fingertips flying across the surface
of whatever the handiest surface; kitchen table top, cloth napkin be
****** the power saw screaming restlessly unrelentingly, slash and burn for the next to take its turn to be burnt on the who’s up next for
the auto-da-fé; and the pulse is my snare drum, my heart beating is a dylan harmonica wailing, can’t keep up, can’t keep up, so it just cries
until it can cannot; care is a wasted, an over consideration too much sensitivity when brutal wrecks it self in streaming bursts and creativity is a soap used to wash your mouth out,
exhausted, &
drink a milk gallon fueling full, wipe your brain’s mouth out &
on your sleeve, you a bad boy writer, who only lives to die, a few more times a daily
11:55~11:59 am
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 11:57 AM UTC