If there's no edibles at the end of the line,

then the line is to be walked away straight ahead

no following the positrons

unless you seek for the golden annihilation

which smells of sin and guilt

and gold.

Naaaaah.

Their arms, their shoulders

they are stiff

muscular containers of acid

the nails are growing back again

the hairs

evidence of some unidentified failure

their wigs are well-fitted though

heavy under the grime

they are a nation of malactivity

Their errors framed

by the minimizing fracture of sloth and hopelessness

their errors are nothing

in comparison and out of

the smell offensive as it was

the gleam

a dense afternoon sitting on an animal print couch with no pants on, sweating as usually

they are a nation of malactivity

or, what I like to name, creation

honoring the walls once covered in expensive scrolls

now hidden behind pieces and particles of oily cadmium dust

a pure selection of losses building over this drowsy foundation

the silent glance of Andromeda

gravitates and swirls to the hole

along with everything else and not.

The only posture that is protective

laying with the waist broken on an arm

unwashed, certainly in negligee

yet the night will bring its own warriors

exactly with the same frequency regardless of my body's position and location

we will still as always fight and win

and sweet mellow mornings will follow

exactly with the same constant condescension

that occurs between two.

---

That warm day the sun slid in through the blinds and the white flimsy curtains

I turned a little around under the covers and felt my head against the soft pillow

the floor was wooden like before and the walls were clean of marks again

can't recall, whether I had breakfast or not, I probably did have some kind of

next step by the shore, sun soothing the skin and the saltwater coming to my knees

untouched, unbreathed offing wind; my arms and hair and shirt are flying away

silken shivers to my waist, to my chest but wouldn't ever call it cold or shudder

my fingers float underwater aghast to how clasping feels of coying in this mass

sugar and butter now a shiny trace my blood hovers for a while and spreads

the chest succumbs and my weight is lost behind the veins of my eyelids.

---

Visual solution

for the prominent disease

hands-on practice

along with the best ions

cold, pale and dead

sprawled on the hospitable bed

the window is slightly open

an allergen breeze comes in

around

true connections are the disappearing

and adoration? each on their own

"Good evening", he said, "Good evening", and leaned against the wall by the bus-stop, "Today I've been roaming around the city. My face has been cold in sweat shift in shift out. I changed routes and bought more tickets but I all day returned. See, it's night now and the stars are visible in this lousy city sky. I was born here, and I discern the stars even at cloudy middays. I came clean in the morning but all was dust and mud on the priest. I ran out, it was not the kindest of feelings. Them people were flowing away alive. Pain relief at its best was of no use anymore. Them people were chafing away alive. My weaknesses were walking along. Warm tables over which I once or twice or thrice wept. Then another and another. The sea has been fit recently. Delicate and vast, silent by the concrete.

They resent when the sea speaks. I never mouthed a word. I've been roaming around the city, a newborn flâneur that expires the next day. Next to the diner the smells were thick and vivid. My lips didn't move an inch today. See, it's a major debate on the graduality of phenomena but in fact the critical point stands exactly between each two states. From one day of belief and hope comes the next day of none. Always, I was persuaded about the absolute dedication that comes along with love. Love is prodded; it does not fulfill its definition.  Always starts from a point and returns? No. My wife died last night. Always starts from a point and cancels. The subject, though, us, returns. I've returned. And this state is the genuine reality and dedication; the self
delicate and vast, silent by the concrete."

Sonorants make this soft noise

as they slip from you

cold hands, cold devices

a vast fear resides in every cell

are you reaching the fore right end

of the death row?

Velvet eyelids turned inside out

thick tears, full mouth

they fade in silence the rain still

from the window a bowed figure makes up for the past

sins

please hold this pale body

winter helps us maintain

o how wise I used to be

o how unloved

Methylene blues

tucked in a thousand clothes without you

down on, serotonin storms were hardly

affordable

please coy these purple eroding viscera

I will fade in silence, please.