Strikethrough 35

Created Wed Nov 25 2020

I.
Speak now, divinity,
 
if you're truly present.
 
Take soft heed and knead the dough of minds,
 
caged and wingéd things,
 
flesh of this very epoch, all my very own, a
 
bleary tongue whispering the jazz of sorrow and
 
left stumbling thru rows of apple trees in the pitch,
 
skeletons in the moonless, starless void,
 
to heave over shoulder into the industrial waste well
 
dashed hopes, eggs, weeds, tissues,
 
to be picked up at Time Indeterminate.
 
The rosy cheek of delusions that know so little of the tender underbelly.
 
II.
Speak now, divinity,
 
if you're truly present.
 
Take soft heed and knead the dough of minds,
 
caged and wingéd things,
 
flesh of this very epoch, all my very own, a
 
bleary tongue whispering the jazz of sorrow and
 
left stumbling thru rows of apple trees in the pitch,
 
skeletons in the moonless, starless void,
 
to heave over shoulder into the industrial waste well
 
dashed hopes, eggs, weeds, tissues,
 
to be picked up at Time Indeterminate.
 
The rosy cheek of delusions that know so little of the tender underbelly.
 
omit spins
omit landing
 
 
insert inbreath
omit direction
 
 
 
 
omit fade
 
insert presence
 
III.
Take soft heed and knead the dough of minds,
 
caged and wingéd things,
 
own, a
 
of sorrow and
 
left stumbling thru rows of apple trees in the pitch,
 
skeletons in the moonless, starless void,
 
to heave over shoulder into the industrial waste well
 
to be picked up at Time Indeterminate.
 
The rosy cheek of delusions that underbelly.
 
IV.
Take soft heed and knead the dough of minds,
 
caged and wingéd things,
own, a
 
of sorrow and
 
left stumbling thru rows of apple trees in the pitch,
 
skeletons in the moonless, starless void,
 
to heave over shoulder into the industrial waste well
 
to be picked up at Time Indeterminate.
 
The rosy cheek of delusions that underbelly.
 
insert languid curl
 
omit sharp breaks
 
 
 
omit closed doors
 
 
 
 
V.
caged and wingéd things,
of sorrow and
 
left stumbling thru rows of apple trees in the pitch,
to heave over shoulder into the industrial waste well
to be picked up at Time Indeterminate.
The rosy cheek of delusions that underbelly.

Author

Jeremy L Instagram: @dr_jerms
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