5 July 20025
jugular and point
the juggler’s pain
(if art forms life)
is a billion breaths in air
a millipede on its back
with legs a blur
could do as well
but the math is hard the quest is weird
and all art wants (on our behalf) is
feeling, form and fear
the last being hard as hell
if such a state
exists
a friend says on a podcast
i feel a strange dislocation from reality
almost all the time
as yet i haven’t listened
to what comes next
but perhaps there’s no drift yet so
heave ho
hoist an anchor
one will do
from the web of anchors
tied to pillars
till we fall