Not Cake and Not Coffee

losing touch with my stylishness,
there’s enough out there already.
I will mar my skin with hidden inks,
looking more deeply at other sticks of TNT.
someday the planet will feel a smoother humanity
upon its candid and manipulated crust.
we will all gaze deeply at each other and feel content,
not becoming the prophetic scapegoat of our imagination.
Importance lies on top of me like a bear who has been impaled.
I see a flagrant separation from the living.
there in the rain, or under the awning,
stomach in a state of jadedness.
Thou must all reconcile your own lives, in a fulfilling way,
together and apart.

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Published by

errorattic

Writer, aspiring farmer and homesteader in North Georgia, making ends meet and trying to become more enlightened.

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