...................................................................................................

conniving: were i, i would



(soonosoon i’ll perspire something of algae, and only then and there i’ll roll and rock within all waves!)

excuse me, master
but you really know gauche?
you know anything of solid
and you know everything - but gauche?

i’m here burning each word
saying things behind things
the same bigmouth when i should zip it
forgive me, master

i’m the gauche that hurts:
only error builds me

and i’m many selves
my swan regrets are several
but consider me for now
only a muse

the beautiful stone
glowing neon green in the shadows
i remember - a gift and a present poison
me there willing, available
then me one-and-all-miserable-seed
do what but grow?
was you who planted me, master

certain words are given and not chosen
they sob there, when they reach the point
they’re coincidences of the pure
stretched treasures that although open
do not reveal

that gauche, master, that gauche





Followers