gasps and low moans

Billingsgate and Balderdash

You are like the tuber of calcaneous, necessary but non-articulating.

Without you there is no ambulating me…

The things you’ve said to me in your gasps and low moans:

“Starting rotation from blackbird…”

“They transferred me to room 15…”

“It’s the same to die here or there.”

Meant nothing to me at the time, but mean everything now, in this age of torn Achilles.

We’re five words short of three thousand in an existence where words don’t count for nuthin’.

I miss you my tuber of calcaneus.

I miss the hole in my head.

“Keep reminding yourself that literature is one of the saddest roads that leads to everything.”

— André Breton

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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