Dark Writing
must have a dream of itself
sliding slope the falling trails
feel yourself at home
a perpendicular pearl is plied
from the left to the right
from somewhere below the ink
as no ink
no ink
no ink
no ink
no ink
will seem itself unmade
the unmaking event efforts a forced reliance
ransom roles
three perjured blossoms we guilt or felt
kinetic care takers
crafted cores
frantic stones
they carry in stereo
sloppy ism trunks – slip and slide we WOOPS the line
liking to see redux pixel the possible
screen orgy oreo
I can feel the paper and the paper has a way of making me feel my pen is safe that in the dark I write that in the dark I’m writing and my writing has a core or a core of a written light or the corruption of my eyes that have parted with my ears that have left me smelling the state of something eaten once the skin has been peeled and pruned like hedges this writing is mute.
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