Don’t ask me to do
that. Don’t ask me
anything, actually,
I’m in deep, deep
fermentation
& have no flyers
to hand out today.

The elastic energy
dial is turned inwards
& there is this
clanging & fizzing
so much that even
cancer couldn’t find
the real-estate to grow.

Deep, deep into salty
fermentation. My mind
bubbles & froths
against the warmth
of my soul; ideas
bad-and-decent
juice &
slosh around my
ears.

That which grows me
ceases to be,
as I grow
within myself.


 

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