• poetry

    blinK/d

    from higher frequencies borderless vibrations, away from THE third observer, who never judges whose bacK is turn’d towards an artificial trompe l’oeil, a taciturn gate-keeper, who, dress’d in rags, perches amid the pair of foolishly wandered eyes, an unarmed watcher, guardian of a connection lost once it is bombarded with stupefacient stimuli until it is brimming w/an uproar of nothingness and defeat’d, replete, familiarly relax’d, comfort’d in routine, lethargic, sunK’n into a couch conformed to the pathetic blobby vessel, held up on the bony shoulders of devilish brethren, who cackle w/the live (?) studio audience as the flame of your i is blown out. blinK’d. follow n liKe bj draKe

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