I think without words. I speak them but they are removed from reality. My writing isn’t writing, it’s a genesis, a creation outside of my control, an order or removed signs, letters, spelled and dispelled of meaning. Devoid – the void, employed to make change, in myself and others. The cause emotion on other. Relay ability, relating, relatability, the ‘bobbing your head, nodding, knowing, sharing, appreciating and sharing of a thought. Communicating- priscus, maniac in us, meniscus, knees tremble and we wrestle with the confounding reality of our ghosts. Our nothings, bitter sweet words we waste with want for understanding. In my shoes, shared thought, mind reading, a redescovery of a path, acknowledgement for truth. Context. “Thank you bus driver”. No one wants to take the high side, organic, whored thought, fie disguise my minds eye. Feeling, “a sense”, switch off, shave, save me. Enclaves of smitten roses two in their thorns. Spitting through bloodied cheeks, pouring blood-red, reading into one another. A mix, all petals, ants and aphids looking down. Falling plaster, cracks appearing. An earthquake. The wart of our earth mother, rolling her sore shoulders and we slip down between her bosoms. Spilling out, engulfed in gizzards. A sick spillage without tide. Rasputin holds a sickle moon over her- hawk for a head, feathers plucked, out of cage. Blisters, blood and loss of her, of world of meaning.

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