yes
yes I will cultivate within me scrupulously the Inimitable
which is Loneliness
and from that (_____).... !
zing a thin gold string…
in the quiet I’ll spin some dreams
pull a slim thread from within,
coil its copper whorl, quivering
I will hold discs of manna on my tongue,
polish them with my matted braids, and laughing,
string them alongside those lucid arcs
where celestial bodies collide and time comes unwoven-
déjà vu :: origami unfolded
could have been a dandelion or a firework,
or maybe a mashed potato
but my blood blossoms here &
now I’ll ovulate sparkle and fade
(opaque between soupy expanses of time-space)
I’ll live & die & sign-my-name,
k,
a,
t,
\ yep.
(what happened???)
& that's all there is to it.