infatuated with cosmic degradation

the striations of stigmata driven braille deep

and it seeps through the cracks of my

creep up the stacks of this  false-hope hiatus

where I’m just as mad as I can be

which isn’t saying much but its enough to bleat

and drift beats away from upsetting a king unseated

and see where this story ends no beginning no friends

just a million page opus

and I befriend all these fictional frictions and

stitches will bend ears to hear where I’m

sending them and its way past my bedtime

when I’m seeking whatever I’ll find in the minds

of the generation left behind



2 thoughts on “DINING ON FICTION

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