/shovels' worth of sparrow songs, hid before me, the praise of morn, I took to ***** and to cushion, that I might sneeze back, with a cajun sentiment of a, "misjudged" joke... mind you... who might care what you don't mind what others feel, when... no one, really cares, what you think? am I wrong to suggest that feeling and thinking are synonymous? both happen almost instantaneously, given a stimulant... is this some sort of pathogen of "wrong-think" sifting process? feelings are delayed patterns of the expression of intellect... thoughts are shallow counterfeits of emotions.... I too wished I was the blabber-mouth of highschool... when thinking cannot become rhetorical, it incubates itself in emotions... but when thinking incubates rhetoric... the emotions attempting to be staged, become, equivalent to, passing a stranger on a street, never giving a two second's worth of mind, worth of notice.
the pulverising presence
of the elemental man,
lodged within,
the seemingly, unmoveable
tiers of "object";
foolish, seeking fame,
as to quench a familiarity,
in:
overcoming the torrent,
of man "evaluating" water...
riddling his equal...
perpetually undermining
metaphysical novels,
with metaphors-,
and never...
the unsatiable thirst...
*** post annus.
