Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to
mention

and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to
perfection'

but the more I turn my face from the crowd

the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled

for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on
itself,

a knife of relief, from all the petty insight

and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the
night.

Bored as fuck with this street corner-cover.

study of a face in a figure. surveying this
language as a game

surveilence of this language as the plague.

the dimension of persistence condemns.

This portrait of karma, crafted in accident

text book seduction, minus the text in the
language of ghosts

and so we ran, like the wolves were biting,

the inhibitions of their prey kept them from
screaming

scratch my back and I will stab you in yours

so I chose to live this life alone, without the
teeth marks

but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in
someone else's heart to heal my own.

just a victim's split, one part for the wolves,
one part for you.

but I'll grow weary soon, weary of this fractal
code,

weary of this hallway lined with ghosts.

just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to
let them in

their words will cause the sweetest fracture from
a stone's throw

just a scratch upon the skin, a drop of blood to
welcome them

parasitic, viral critics, or lovers, like spirits
mingling in the mist

that we crafted, a starving jury, let them eat
shit from our trembling hands.

The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block
of Congress

deductively speaking, the polar of progress

well maybe I put too much faith in the accident

entranced, we danced toward the ripest display of
escape

let the starving ghosts feats, from this flesh,
from these bones,

let them all feast. In this chess game of
language, forced to sit so I play all alone,
watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from
a wild crafted rose.