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Altered Id
I watch a bee vomit
vomit all bees
(The bee is my id)
at the
chrysanthemum trellis
an old basset hound paws
(The dog is my compass)
My best guess is that
death is like a dream of death.
Strange that now though, in waking:
I smell the smell of persimmon
- WHILST -
bathed in a distant concept: (Yard)
In my very best moments
I make art from dismantled bits of ego
but
at my worst
it's rickets.
Hidden like a peach pit:
True Nature
It is riddled with contradictions
like Kareem Abdul Jabbar.
My best guess is that death is a warm
bath that stays warm. A real thing
that really happens.
(but without all the Knowing)
In my vagrant subconscious, I manage to conjure
up the chutzpah
to unblade
the abyss:
"TODAY, AT LONG LAST, I WILL BURY MY NAME!"
(My best guess: death is one long twilight,
that it is always
almost
over...)