21 August 2025
quick rant for cecilia
unlimited lyric production this verse river overflows its banks
mossy tree lined sand or mock rock concrete they’d tried to guide
eruptive landfill of forever dying languages
while we child proselytes chattered over sated predilections
the thing is not to vomit but to taste the words as they reach your mouth and pause
because an oracular massage pronounced would be a better way to feel the words
as your tongue compulsively tools them to their task
(always dying and disappearing from the past)
to interdict the apparent passage of the sun and feel it salutary
to be alive so sweet so sour so hot so cold this day and know
you’re dying for of if
it were pure song