There’s still miniscule glass-shards lingering around.
I used to spot these at regular-relative houses.
And wonder what secrets would be spotted
At every awkward dinner table raucous
Report of a work-interview
And no one here knows that 8 of us
Are direct co-workers.
A system to support the intelligent of a system waveringin conspiracy
Propaganda to others.
As if diner-paintings and hushed tones in hue
Were the only symbolism
Left to decay
In a frozen winter
And no one opened their mouth.
Fallacy, don’t you think. Friend?
I’ve no idea these days.
Callout boards.
And certain songs and images prey onto me.
And I sing a little prayer that a true friend is near.
The next challenge.
And you’ve given me intrigue.
Blessing, blessing, blessing.
Swollen on my tongue, the sweetener.
That has proven immortal.
The next red flag, the broken knight.
And I waited this long to do it my way.
And the beads of broken bracelet still rattle.
Why pull them out the trash like every other hit-sample.
Even in invisibility, i sense the sensory you’re depriving yourself of.
The deep-dive of a workaholic.
And I prose onto you in serenity of creation.
The impurity of invention.
Break the law of convention.
Is the real direction I afford myself at all costs.
Whenever I shutter to
“I feel bored.”
Kick the buckets.
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