Inhale-
The intake is slow and choppy,
Adjusting appropriately to turbulence
Unscoped by the electricity that keeps things humming.
We are guests here, leeches of another makeup,
Test tube projects so drugged up
It takes death to realize real lies.
The dark and unshaped begins to pulse and vibrate
As the haze creates mazes over under, tip and tuck
Down and render. Render what?
What’s been asked of me to date?
There’s a girl, and a grade, and this recipe
I might try. A box of dials I use
To hone the subtle tones of an ear on the phone.
You can’t see it? I can’t either, have a drink
And we’ll conspire a way to create the Real.
No more placated fakes based on faith
Of a “real” stone left dank, damp in a hole
Too deep for the souls of our big heavy machines,
Try to drill for a dream, I dare you!
-exhale.
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