i am kneeling. i am kneeling in a position like those who see The Great M/monolith and can’t help but accept the possibility of wool sunglasses for the rest of their dimlit lives and somehow jam this irrevocable irrationality from their frontal lobe and into the interior cells of their spaghetti dinner.
no meat sauce, only marinara.
i am kneeling still. i am kneeling as if the vitality of necrophilic extremophiles is somehow adventitious to the way my thin, freckled knee caps sow seeds into the cow shit; a diseased breed, a bare apparatus.
the people around me don’t seriously consider the propaganda of choiceless deathlife and i wonder what it is like to stand on a mountain not for the view, but for the entirety of a scripture someone else who chose to bend their joints into a walking-like, endeavor stricken one lane interstate.
the lights go off and boom boom boom my retinas are exposed to something that appears to me as some type of disguised, ugly vice and to others as a good alternative to a self-help book.
sometimes, i wish people read more.
these seeds have sprouted, i hope.
i hope that something feels different, other than a physical rhetoric.
these wicked works are almond trees to the offbeat anthropoid choir.