numb toes and madweed

losing the battle against my authoritative brain. i, the fully bloomed green crocus sweating cold dew into a black widow's web fog. brittle neck cranes to determine the source of the light sustaining me, so i can thrust my face into its richest muskiest under-folds. a pipe dream, out the belly of this leaden nebula, where sunbeams are diffused into infinite tiny projectors blaring dully into my every pore.


i got the coldest feet i know. mind informs body informs mind. when one wrestles contentious thought to the most distant margins of mental capacity, then refuses circulation to these siberias, one can expect compensation. dat ache, stinging ache, escorted by cushioned electrocution. cold enough for the whole foot to be a separate beast ready to be flung across the room, to shatter on the wall into a million icy blue bits. rat food!
gotta wobbling grasp on the singular frame; wanna save the data moshing for inside my strained lens caps. strained for the sake of remaining planetary, staying shack-bound and thus boundless in the realm of my choosing (excluding, of course, that slippery locus miles up the beanstalk, called healthy attachment)

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh