if not holier than smoke , certainly
holier than thou ...

i'm so up ...

a corner eye capture of myself ..
whizzing by - metallic green

hurriedly determined ... highest
frequency dart proving air's density

proving randomness' lure


perked ears aimed intensely toward the center
of a rutkus ...

and the rutkus grows - forces - rumbles ...

closer - center expanding

silence so sudden as the buzzing , whizzing
affirmation stops .....

i can't listen hard enough -

lost connection




i sit still ...

stillest

chewing nothing at a time ..

i hear the faultering heartbeat
in my neck ..
and the ugliest compacted words from a
mouth so restricted
still .... with intentional breath placed
slightest conspicuous

strange fear


i remove the greens and reds and blacks
from my plate ..
this isn't at all excessive ...

this could be my last meal ..

could be the only thing that i care to
remember from this point on

it's the only approach that makes sense

intentional everything

no thoughtless mistakes before i'm blank-
no careless last breaths-
no pushcheek pastry cherry mulm
falling out of my face when my head's lifted
by a waft breeze aft it's removed from my
neck that wasn't even tensed ...
wasn't thinking about how important that was to
the whole thing .....
when someone , somewhere , somehow tragic - falls from
what they expected of themselves as
children without thought of tomorrow
while making great chase towards dragonflies , and
capturing them only to pull wings , and legs , and
thorax apart looking for a dangerous mouth that wasn't there


i'll be extinguished by the empuzzled , yet intentional
discovery monster choking out what he believes to
be paradoxical...
but the paradox wasn't there either

the only way to combat blind stupidity is
intentionalism practices that let you know when
questions that need no answers ... arise

but the fucker won't ever even know his
dream is dead .... won't ever know that when the
creature came apart in his hands -
the damage was irreperable , and he became creaturish

when he wiped his hands clean of dragonfly , his hands
were left stained , the dirty mits of ugly
unintentional avenues ...
the dirt under the nails ... the angelical fleshfabric -
scratched away , turned to gritty bloodstained
blackened grime
once beatiful , now death

tastes of sin - smells of sick


i am very aware of him ... and knowing he exists , is
knowing there's a question in his diverted existence
that will be the death of me

he doesn't ask with words


and can't patiently wait for answers

he rips limbs from thorax , head from neck ...

and finds nothing


he just leaves eventually , flustered again ,
with your grit under his nails ...
disturbing the quiet that he made ...


convinced that things are hidden too
effectively ...

not accepting that some things mean no harm