nothing no things to observe us to denote us as ours, caretaker our signs once blurred by evening’s mock songstress aren’t hands & eyes & hearts enough the whiskey was the fix that stirred & stirred us up a froth of ourself incongruent as axe handle to owl our life’s vile fictions melded to edges’ rank factions rank factions marched up our staircase & down the darkened hallway of our heart our accuser’s knife blade poised at our throat swigs of Jim Beam momentarily coherent saying, “make each thing seem weepy in us” all lies followed act ii of something you convinced me would goddamn be demented by insufficiencies & you & I paired off eternally in reality, caretaker come morning our dreams will seem more lucid to us than creation’s spectacular dawns come morning sunrise will appear pale & redundant a lover we manage to arouse & abandon simultaneously fading supra-logically to syllogistic infractions anima mundi we have composed this, caretaker, in signs we abandoned along highway nine our screams in the stairwell uncoil like bowels slithering through knife wounds only we survived we laid ourselves down like footprints going nowhere & yet we know it was words that led us the glare they vanished into rose above the vast horizon continuous as blindness sating disarmament’s talkative bedchamber heart we existed, caretaker, in gear-latches of framework beyond hopeless corporeality time itself stuttered & still we knew the digits said nothing but the clock to us nothing but the clock & words whirling a night-world
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