a history comprised of hazy saturdays
on a couch four years ago, completely
sold to the idea of
disclosure. amongst the self telling you
there is no god, apart from the one
called i and ego and immersion
in bottles. i sweep all of that up. focus
on the outside of tunnels. spread each
card, define what these planets
mean in conjunction. it's all
relative, it's been said. it's all ones
and twos and the occasional
unwanted three, set in motion,
beyond turrets, under graves,
and through seismic oceans filled
with dying devotion: a thirsty
madonna, a hopeless isis, a burnt
wife of a disciple.
|
Submission Name: empty monologues become rational—
