here they come amassing their potential greatness in the back of my mind
there they go a squanderin around
the bug spins twice for the amusement of the hypotheticals and sporadic leeches
the door slams shut before opening again forthe greatest of the releases
and the nonsensicals pour out just this once for perhaps the only andlast time
they march forth in order of smallest to largest. silliest to unprovoked
wearing ******* clown shoes and false faces
some with dollar signs still burning the palms of their hands
but most with 10,000 mile stares
do they still write for the universal, for the greatest spining reversal?
do they still speak in the most straightforward of riddles?
does anyone still read into them...
does the faucet still incessantly drip idealized water memories...
I can only see the *****, not the gradient
I can only feel the dew, not the grass
i can only taste the crab, not the shell
I can only hear the music, not thewords
facing divinity and scouring myself clean in the shame it forces
seeing the exact center of the venn diagram
and being blinded by the duality therein
*****
and links
234
simplicity is the most difficult thing to master
books don't write themselves
authurs can't design inspiration
liquids still sing
