there are some aspects of thought
that ravel
i shiver, crumbled and fray
that strong bone amid the weak mud, or is it a tower?
i hear the sounds of the bubbling cities in the desert
my hermeneutics got overpowered by my trembling
that travels and carries nothing inside, chants, indigestion
all the noise that follows from moving outside inside
or the usual angst and fear of angst of the tide
or accommodating fear and angst of fear
i rebel
maybe I was meant to be the Brighton Pier
or i would be happy with a tidy George Michael
too many words in a library and we're left with the sheer mumbling
i speak as a worm, without worm words
without the wit
in the absence of the absolute-demolishing love
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