The World Is Too Full to Talk About
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<strong>The</strong> Disappearance<br />
(1)<br />
A great hundred-year-old siege <strong>to</strong>ok over this desert and its’ people.<br />
<strong>The</strong>ir vocal cords were snatched out of their necks and everything they<br />
make is ugly and everything they whisper is ugly as they’ve been force<br />
fed stagnant death since formation, birth, soft infinitesimal growth. An<br />
entire industrialized desert of doom where bodies swallow bodies and<br />
limbs go stiff from sitting for years.<br />
If I could prove <strong>to</strong> you that blood runs in my mummified body would<br />
you wake up in horror? That you have kept me in a <strong>to</strong>mb for thousands<br />
of years as I have sung <strong>to</strong> my self some songs of the living, covered<br />
my body with insects, and thought every now and then of the sun<br />
which belongs <strong>to</strong> no one.<br />
(2)<br />
once I knew a man who was a fold<br />
he was a fold in the sense that he was something soft and curled about<br />
its self<br />
I lost my grasp on anything around him<br />
I felt like a tiny little fish motionless in the quiet and dangling pacific<br />
ocean<br />
I felt like the sun was melting in my liver and bursting through my<br />
insides<br />
he was everything and everywhere<br />
but life<br />
in it's stubborn tyranny<br />
will lay down it's fences<br />
and I could not find his face and could not kiss it<br />
one morning he <strong>to</strong>ld me<br />
"it gets tiresome <strong>to</strong> fight<br />
lay down our red flags and white flags and<br />
even the idea of a flag<br />
become<br />
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