the spires gleam

Goth Vacation

I. Cathedral

We float in a melancholy aura
crying onion-eyed tears.
The spires gleam like forceps
extracting the sun from the sky.

II. Spheres

Pomodoro cut holes
of obtuse logic
from fecund metal spheres.
The lawn overcome—
cloud shadow spreading—
recalling last night’s dream:
the bottom of the well,
fetid water,

A: It’s my dream / S: And why don’t I care?

What I’m Reading:

“It’s just that some people can do things, and others can’t . . . It couldn’t be any simpler. People do what they can get away with.”

— Mieko Kawakami / Heaven

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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