discommunion

taste is like
when life is seen backward
eyes like
splintering sacs of priss and be
the occasional nod and wink out
and about
like splinters knock on wood and that's not quite unilateral
or soundless
or you could just jump back in like the swim is a skim off the top
like we are all ballerinas spinning in the gutter
leaves rotting in the sink

ever had too much to say? and it is limbs of the ideas wagging about ever swim between time and watch the shadows flicker somewhere behind? and the fingers drag upon your temple wrapped in a pulsating sleeve, dripping and there are the wolves like lamp bulbs

it's best when you don't listen but here
these lives are fractions, many petals, many times in the mirror I fell apart.
I need space. I need to divide and listen and fear

Pick apart the glass and slip inside