Doing
time on the writers block
Headaches only scalp the physical
description or skim the surface my fingers map-out
and
in the blank lines connecting doubt
desperation dead ends
dry out in hieroglyphic rain
Between you and that line the potentials your mood swings
balancing
the evidence you mistake for madness at face value,
like the elbow shadows on the desk
that riddle was formed before light was even
discovered
hands god given
in the word maze
clocking pain
each verb struggles an estimate that either
makes or breaks day
and
as it swings that tacky beat you us your heart moves closer to eternity’s bosom
the fate brain rapes
against tree skin
reminds you of
the stone-coma epitaphs
never written
Inside the pendulum locks in a witness
clotting victims
tracking
the nostalgia, racing
blood forgets now and then
against those bone odds writing
begins
mind crime stationary
it's scary
exposed
like that, line
conned by the pros outliving you
the soul geology your effort,
instinctual as the desire it takes to be remembered
but to see angels envy us at that very moment
the spikes free of extending consequences
the universe opens creativity
winging
the sacrifice our heads make below
leaving
dreams of cliffs on edges
setting
the cannons held
the relics lust
mix
timing
trimming echoes
off a passing age
a soul geometry
never to see us coming but hear our words returning to live again
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