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Profile avatar image for theescapist
theescapist

they found us in the woods

book of the universe,

how fascinating is it to be made of capricious crisscrosses, ideations

like microscopic waste bisected to ease suspicion;

how lonely must the elements get in their habitual states--

a wall crashing on chafed rock, jumping onto its

snow-covered peak. refuging

the tremulous wind currents that travel with their stolen suitcases;

how mighty must you feel to be called creator & creation, to watch salt

rings increase is size yourself, but still shrinking, shrinking &

shrinking. to know that when an embrace pulls away, so do your

granite cells. to be compared with the three-toed stomp. to choose

to know & behold & ignore. to not know what makes the birds taller

than the trees, to not know of possessions and grey-paged

contempt. to have to agree with what the mud-creatures claim to sell--

oval cakes opaled, yet dispensable. to know of a dandelion

that looks away at this dissonance:

how low must you feel, to be an amalgamation of rubbery disposals,

to have seen, but not heard the diamond elephants. to be so menial

as to measure centimetres using the width of one fingernail, to know

how much you can sell it for to the butcher.

to be condensed wood, liquefied

iterations, to know when the ever-accommodating quota has been

finished.

red as a snowstorm, white as blood, these mindless congestions

like darts set away their pen-nibbed victories as tricolored masses

sink deeper still. did you know that plastic spines are bendable, baroque

tears holdable & mat-rubbed feet washable? despite this,

chequered consequences remain as illustrious as monotonous duty,

yet you stall. deeper and deeper still, body masses give way to final

convictions as machine parts slam themselves on silt

roads like pages tucked away and artwork made from bark. like faulty

reminisces at a conjecture, newspaper clippings cut themselves out

& fly into the frames mounted on wallpapered lookouts as though

warnings have never been deterrent. the wrappers from the

marshes offer their wrinkled bodies as proof, to be forced

to refuse them. to walk steadily loessed land and be held captive

by the beleaguered soil. to accept this fate in your bubble-wrapped

ignorance.

#poetry