Can’t hear things well if they are things whispering. Nothing gentle to
hand on back of hand. A horsehair bow across gut string.
A heart is a physical object singing in the chest. Chamber doors
oxygenating blood rushing through. Salmon through river climb.
When one writes of light as a painted smile across face. You call
to the interpretation. A post re-posted significant meme image locked to
Speak of Soul? Sounds like a grifter’s hustle. Don’t do it.
Anyways, you try to place yourself into the nature poetry experience.
In your nature placement, you’re constantly thinking of how you don’t like
shit outdoors. You like a toilet throne and a stall and toilet tissue.
Your mind ruins beautiful poetry expressions by expressions before a
flush. Yes, if you see a nature painting you ponder a spot to express self.
Think of hole digging and burial afterward. A courtesy thing. Some mass
crushing flowers. Or smeared across a granite slope. Is not a waterfall one
You mean, if you were to see this world through black-light vision,
knowing everything covered in
shit, this planet would be a beautiful glow.