softblue.
“the company of our silence officially befriended me.
i am in /[really]\ in here. and so is… it” edit emphasis includes
[am iii really in here]?!
a question marks
exclamation’s point
sensation
stripped
laid bare
becoming
space between flesh
iii am uncounted
pushed away
with emotions
spiraled into shape
lettered littered last
refuge: silence.
iii want an aside here, where iii can speak about poetry and painting and art. how, at once, painting is art on canvas, on liquor-store/convenience-store walls, hung in your home, stolen for museums, photorealistic before photos were imaging, and abstracted rorschachs of color including a field of what you call, blue. [d]our poetic azul. where seas are a perpetual weaving of hope-worn suffering. our threadbare how what we are saturated in gives us life while consuming us [whole] without so much as a bite, edentulous. suffocation in life’s fluidity; its whetted appetite. oceans are space and air and place and here; where footsteps are devoured in floatation. suspension arrests breathing. respiration ceased. sound is muffled. distortions succumbed in waves. how is longing not rage? screams soaked in consummated estuaries of their tranquility.
[and]
[d]our
azul.
