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Killing Gay Pot With Heat Death

from The Swerve by Just Me

/

lyrics

Laundered solicited proverbs, robbed from loitering copper smoke mingled in my pot herbs.
Clock sure, no, confidential is this stagnant browser…
So time confidence, where's the starting blaster, I can make a pseudorapture, like Kang
But I'm cooler than a cucumber, I lumber up and pick the carton out of his shirt pocket, I pop a cold glock under that warm roof and sploof the smoke out my mouth like a popped shoulder socket. Limp now, so stale and sauntering towards the end of the stage, the podium has collapsed on my broken toes but I’m jovial with laughter...Security, seems a sullen state, they watch the wounded rip his eyes from their origin as he gestates the waste that had built up inside the grey matter—it seems as if that very grey, like hollow apathy, is splattering out onto the crowd, and the crowd mingles with each other using only their frightened expressions, as each tooth he yanks from his palate invokes the very taste of...of an almost decrepit human nature. The crowd is as lock jawed as him, as the consolidated gaze locks onto me...Me, you can't stare at me, I am being more than being, and you are being you and less than you...So we can't dwell into this tragedy as the escapade of you or the result of me, but of the kindling that burnt this whole granite world—excuse me, asphalt, but what else beside me to state what I know is paradox, two pair of rocks, fast or slow, and you know as the queue to repress any non-conjunctive thoughts with an adversary that fights me in my sleep, that I obviously assign as a foreign collected unconscious that is formed, almost predilected to love and hold you until it jars you back into another layer of entropy’s waves…I can practically bite, feel those brittle, sun-cracked layers bend and ripple until they compound into the crevices of my molars, which I can imagine the tongue scrapings will only taste of corn starch and nosebleeds, that me, without you, will be free of the tunnels with wave shaped ulcers. No one will tell you the excitement of usurping my throne, for I am me, not one of you, but one of me, which is all of me, for I am one and all, so all not no one, but you are considered one while I’m the only one of me. I am the only all that exists, the only me...So sure, you should Stumble over the people in front of you just to tear a hole in my cheek, but you all are cowards, so I will force that task unto my teeth.

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from The Swerve, released July 28, 2022

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Misplaced Concreteness Moab, Utah

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