i can’t find the foot, i can’t ride the root of all raging, oh its there its inside the words the wordscome from the universe from the sound of the shape of the silence of the music within me i can hear it and maybe it wont get here now or later or linger or lists of lanuage of lipids or love it is wonder it is wishness it is dreams within dreams within freedom within joy within i am finding within i am joying and enjoying and banging and listeninging and cornbread control it contrive it concoct is like a construct of connetion the words lead no where but everywhere my name is everything i know nothing

then i let go again.

and connecting the connector cables, the rewritten fables, the untempered charts of hearts and flows and measurements of minute temperatures. dinner table debates and races of rushing ringlets of repentance and collaboration and connection and all the ways words fit together, lace their little droplets of skin together and run.

i found the paper essence sitting there. that little fact of futuristic truth that had been gazing at me through all my dribbled inquiries. i saw the name, what the name meant, and who’s face was attached to that name somewhere else in time and space. i spit, i choked, i slobbered my soul down the front of my petticoat. i coughed and i cracked and i saw for a moment all moments i had ever believed in turning to ashdust and cloudrain and curvatures of phonecalls not made, never heard. forceless neurons fragmenting in space, wanting to be a part of a body, wanting to be a part of an emotion, but more so and less so just drifting so. just hanging in space. i felt my faith fall out of my fingers and a big bubble of bursting belief blowing through my brain. i lost the loose ties and tongued my tortured vocal chords- trapping them long enough that they might remember how to sing again. to speak, to make a sound. to shout endlessly this radiating, rotating field of emotion through my lungs. but nothing came. just sight and sound and unconnected syllables of sentience and senselessness. i could not find the spinal cord of sound that so often connected my brain to my bowels and my speech to my soul. my words were among the wordless now. the worlds of spinning weaknesses.



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