Sifting Out All the Impossibilities
I am bubbling (over?)
with ideological idioms of breath
and breast and blood. Where
am I in this nightmare's rampage?
Trampled or triumphant
hold the same space. And
both are too abandoned
to separate my shadow.
Let alone my resourcefulness
The whole scenario is misguided
(at best). Beastly. Bleeding
amongst exhaustion's drippings:
Discards over dreams.
(Now that's a house worth folding for.
Or) Falling over.
The biomathmatical calculations
take on a captivating glow.
Is it power or pyre?
Guess we'll have to wait
and see what flavor the ashes flow.