Raking

Terrified, supraliminal body.
Go towards zones that are illicit by human orders.
We have no glue to keep our species more like itself
than a hubristic, incorporated meganaut.
All of us are charged with due negligence.
The oceans stand by, always reliable.
Never reshaped in our lifetimes.
The message did not get across.
I stand by, through walking out.
Away from the ministry that goes careening into the pixels.
It is an actual breakdown of the body.
They have no place except the present.
Full of fisticuffs and stage-cut malice.
Give them to the sky.
Please give them to somewhere else.
Can we live as we are prescribed?
Why cannot we live without the turbulence?
Breeding stylistic addictions.
Those of which include our very own vessels.
The world cannot be shared at this rate any longer.
I must be losing the wheel.
Staring diffidently to the side of might.
At the eleventh hour, I lose control.
At the twelfth, I regain momentum.
When the foreboding calm on the inside is actually like a forth-rushing tsunami.
To those grandiose lands, I seek to wash in my love.
Building an inversion.
Stray and eliminate, boycott and abolish.
Bury the hatchet in some other place than your own chest.
Learn from the very threads that compose, like chromosomes.
The shared fabric of our heart’s motivations and mind’s rationale.
Read on! dear, lost pilgrims.
Read without the shouting, and go down to the morgue in the valley.
The river can take your body back to its point of origin.

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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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