crunch, and crackle, eating the warm coat of your callous, fondling condensed blood vessels with your tongue. this is a euphemism, of course. another coat. for another idea, which is just another perception. another coat, under another coat, under another. times infinity. this is exactly how i like to reckon the spine of our cosmos: a coat rack. just, wrapped, confined in the oval of a spotlight devouring the cold, crawling comfort of the dark. and adam and eve is just another euphemism, a gossamer thread enveloping the coat rack metaphorically eating the big apple of shame, of sin, of knowledge. to hide. for warmth. to cover its nakedness, to inject the terrible itch of conformity. then theres another itch, underneath that itch. nothing is bare, nothing is raw. except---
today, i feel like a spine. or the silhouette of one.
It'll be about 2 PM by the time I untangle my train of thought, and 2:10 when I type, rinse, repeat. By 2 PM, it'll be 2 hours until church. Spiritual enlightenment at 4:00 PM, bring a dollar. Turn, rinse, repent. If my head's traveling at a rate of 99.99% of light speed(the rate of which it takes two ions to collide and recreate the big bang), and my heart's traveling at the same rate my head is, at approximately what time will it be when the universe collapses on itself, assuming both subjects are both hardly anatomical? The rate of resurrection?
Trick question, you can't calculate my humanity.
can you think to yourself without thinking to the public anymore?
dig deep down, and you'll find that you excessively confide in the street lights
that are really only company until they flicker away into the night.
howling at the industrial moon juice, screams are lost, faded into the hectic city buzz,
where people tangled in their silk cling to their own hands and part with their souls.
frustrated, taped to an obsession of control,
you break down the universe.