when i insert my word disease into your veins, this addiction to the ever-recede, ever-spiral, unearthed banners and slogans, sucking at your reservoirs with all the remorse of a squeezing child … all the innocent eradicitation of infantile curiosity … as i deconstruct, unravel, encompass with every stark letter, you brush your meaning away to confront yourself, quite to my discontent … i never meant to destroy you in a question, a phrase you could not turn away from, a concrete disassociation that gave you no choice but to “look” …

obsessions, blackholes engulf all sunlight, and i am placing sterile poker bets at the other end of this, there is a light equivalent … but it is all chance and hope, a useless variable of some abstract significance … yes, the world will end, yes, we all die, but these are such pointed partitions of nonsense … again periods mark for the end of a line, not all life.  i suppose this is the devalue resultant, the negative from which you run … didn’t you know? i believed in you, not the inanimate … for once … i was giving you power to know, giving you the printed word so i could not deny, explaining to you all the inbetweens to my silence but you drink up the deflection of this bitter remedy, another host to horde away, another appreciation thwarted to the impersonal, the denial of personal significance …

you focus on the meaning of the drink and the perceived absence in the air, disbelieving the unproven logic / the concrete invisible, dissatisfied becase of the uncertainty of challenge … rather than articulate the aesthetics of the taste, the vibrations of the color, the acid swelling of your chemical re-enactments, the fact that all of this is valuable if you do “look” … that i gave it to you, for you, and no other …

why could you not pierce me with this same sunlight focus?  i write because i cared … you stumble because i made you afraid of your shadow again  … push my hand back, dear, i must be reminded you are alive …