look up

a life of a writer,,, the distance between the creation and the real world,,, too wide or too narrow? living on the words, by the words, through the words that I’ve written… or just those were the outpourings that could be, would be,,, then, turning my back on those and living as if those never exist or existed… the words… not forgotten, but ignored, betrayed… choosing between the intentional complete dissociation and the opiatic overlaps that sweep my feet off the ground of reality,,,

hands and knees, and my wings… crawling with the wings draped over my shoulder, damp and heavy… in too many ordinaries… don’t look down on the floor, dear.

<September 2nd, 2018>

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