The Faucet noise
is making me nauseous.
Then again,
Itooam
always spewing, and drowning, underneath
incessant opinions
running through the ply-sheeted barriers from which my overgrown heart and underwhelmed mind, rest protected.
Words.
I saw on the news in Japan,
A trillion dollar Bullet-Train that was Overtaken by hostile terrorists who proceeded to grind the railing against itself, oppressing its nature in a momentary manner meant more to the masses than most would ever make of it.
Filing itself down in a circle. The sparks of inertia
Must purify a state of such undoing, that is; Existence is confined in motion, not through it. No matter how much you squirm around, making a mess of everyone.
It wasn’t hard for me to imagine all of that metal crying to itself, alone on a rusty track.
The conductor was apparently drunk and high and suicidal. Probably again.
Putrid fingers reaching into couch-crevices, looking for a key. Eyes un-blinked that need to cry. “Your faucets are leaking”, they tell me, “your cabinet drawers are open.”
This Faucet noise is doing me in.
Oh to be washed by some substance more holy than water and thicker than blood.
7:32 a.m:
-cam d.s.s
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