Reality is just like a golden crepe
Draped in cinnamon powder
It needs a sense of locality to befriend something foreign.
Even that strange sensation, that something
Inside of me is far bigger than myself,
Like the whale inside my throat
I want to let go down two mouth-worthy lips.
There’s always a desperate streak
Inside of you climbing out of the rubble
You call a smile, which from afar looks
Like a frog’s mouth, opening to let
A clawing crab-tongue out.
Oh look at those claws slapping in force
Like a prophesy muscling time.
And one man, not knowing how much brute
Force his tongue can wield
On another, grappling a paradigm shift,
Washing away to tidal currents,
Coves filling with a ghostly feeling
Pouring over embankments,
Learning life’s most coveted inevitability.
