i've woven figment into fabric.

[ it's originating from my chest,  on all fours it approaches my brain            case, tickling my throat and nose during procession. ]

i've never felt like such a child as the firing line shot straight to my eyes.

         jesus excuses you kind sir!

                                                    to be such a groundless hog on a spit of landless sea is dripping in celestial flavor. i'm elated, euphoric, observant and lost in the under passing burrow. blowing low with the swiftly nimbly numb, human behavior can be categorized with convenience.

"hence, shall we roll?we are within a spitting distance!already?fuck!"

 

 to cosignatory infatuation i give my regards on this day we live en route; to gaiety and merriment i give my acquired taste for the wind; and for the wistful migrant my contemplative sorrows, misgivings, and a hawk. but you... you are saccharine. you have yet to be crowned with my cardiovascular king.                       on, holiday!

encased.

when i awake i'll be blind? i'll lay here encased shaping clouds.. in my mind (in my mind, in my mind...). 
in my mind i sit collecting not thoughts, but an earnest desire to stay in this home i've replaced with reason. i've missed these stairs so much to the point where i've tripped at least eight times since i've arrived. restless pacing on tranquil flooring should become a thing of the past- but in turn.. i can see the grey area as clear as the the whites of my eyes in the crystalline pool at my feet. it's drowning me, i am conscious, i am sinking. i cannot feel my fingertips underwater, so how am i expected to?

.

dear, "god" i've been going ninety-five to nothing. when i brake (s)he escapes with every second [it's too fucking cold, the heater is on but the window is down.] repeating, i must not, for i have my own comfortable arm to rest my head upon when i am caught up [or leaving]