a pseudo thought lulls the mind,
(a plausible artifact of decadent body)
release of reason, of ground reality,
I am the man of flair, a jackal
to create chaos out of this order.
I’m struck with a unison of doubts,
flogging the rope of struggle, I
am a hostage to light, to dark,
I have an erection of infirmities,
I lick gravel down my falling feet.
there is that verity shoveled down
my throat, bound by the cable of
dexterous dreams asphyxiating me,
hanging by the arch of a house of
callous cards, still swirling that
thought of misery, enclosing me
from my own voice, I thus grieve.
Linking it up with World # 42 at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.