I take myself away from you.
Even though you have
nothing
to do with this injurious
mass intrusion
that presses on the secular;
we’re all stuck in the glue together.
When it turns into that joint confusion,
I wish myself away from you.
And “you”
is you and you and you.
There’s nothing else to do
then to disappear,
on purpose,
so I don’t fall off the planet;
because the glue is losing hold of me—
from time to time:
I’m slipping.
I put my talking back to sleep
to get down
to the roots of things…
these fucking roots are miles deep
of tangled,
gnarled,
breathing things.
They are not glued together.
I trace the roots
to find the pattern,
then surface back
to the glued / taped smatter
where things are sort of real
and sort of matter.
Then return myself right back to you.
Good as New:
Better.
Smatter in the idle chatter.
-clw
9-28-17
copyright: C. Ward 2017
- crickle-bot publishing
cricklecrackle.wordpress.com
