chatter of the squirrel

-chronic murders-

 

its coming soon feels like its already here anticipation makes days swelter like august.  we are going to make this one the best its been said before but understanding does not come so quickly like years. slowing growing while i remain stunted like a tree on a mountain side that is too thin.  mirrors are not needed to see me they don't lie but the truth is never there.  they've stolen us all.  we aren't even trying to fight.  how do you win against yourself?  constant evolution of chronic murders emerging when i can't wait for your heaven to run over me again. this time will be like none other.  you will not let me forget like a burn always remembers with its scar.  infinity has different degrees its always bigger than itself.  getting somewhere steals years starting so slowly this is almost like timing timing.

 

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poetry

flight

 

frozen pond in april

 

last chemistry lecture of the semester

 

waning (in) rhythm

 

glass

 

finding meaning in a system that has no meaning

 

chronic murders

 

a loss of direction

 

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