this isn’t paradise

Phantom

The amplitude of echoes
Function like a phantom limb

Glucose seeps into the cells
Smell of white gas and charcoal

A swale once full of shoulder depth snow
Did you know Frazil are ice crystals
Formed in turbulent water, as in swift
Streams or rough seas?

Paradise? This isn’t paradise, son
You’ve cracked a tooth

The world doesn’t need anymore people
No further congestion or metal grates

I’ve apologized for the Spanish Inquisition
You can purchase a guayabera made China

Why did she pop up in a search for sorghum?
Her voice is a natural vibrato

Now you’ll have to get by on your own.

What I’m Reading:

“for life’s not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis”

— E. E. Cummings / “[since feeling is first]”

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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