my world is a weapon

by tremens


so i thought when i lay in the rippled darling of moonlight, with the storks darting overhead and coming in multitudes, thick white spurts like icing across Great Cake.
fear of permanence.
fear of madness that lasts forever

or because of madness conceives only ‘forever’.
Salvatore : change is a weapon.
Heraclitus: Nothing is, everything is becoming.
Salvatore : the flux is blind, you let me sink into this marble slab

Parmenides : What is, is. What is not, is not.
the plenum submits and turns sweet triples across a protein-layer fondant.
rows upon rows of negroes dancing in the same blown-up patterns of the paint across their faces the white paint across their faces.

toothbrush toothbrush toothbrush in jaw.
perhaps pain rots ‘i’ some people.
but draws ‘me’ out in others.
right elbow right elbow sink line to to left.
with this i can wrought the world.
this the world has wrought for i.

come-to, whim-worshippers
the might of pain makes right
over the Little People first the burn
then the balm – satisfaction
and the mephistopheles bounces back