My flesh burns new language into bodies of mine, presumed to know the grammar and labor of becoming paradox. Not known, my nurse of becoming sleeps while my crossing, breaking, entering the temperature of excess.
why am I in the cave? painting my spirals of not understanding? regaining my heartbeat louder in the depth? I ask you, trickster.
I enjoy the altitude and the ground flow of your silence, Intensity. Between zero and infinity, my heartbeat through spirals. I am the sculpture of speechless birds
flying and perching
flying and perching
within these furious branches of my Climax
The spiral of my heartbeat plays the full Enigma of high temperature melting rock and breath. both summoned into being. vessels navigate and yell. Apocalypse. off my Climax.
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