Raw Egg & Psychoactives

6th, as in all acts of worship. Silence drains the walls and draws its lot;
A heavy pour starts spreading – what it means to summon god is now
Just show for other not in hearing to appear, exhaust and immaterial.
Like the sum of fear, and then nearly – determined enough to resist:
The oz it watches over me, makes chap of chafe and handles me in
Mastery, assent. Its breath communicating age in bouts of puff;
Smeared out, and searching. So that where the most would end,
He is beginning – ripe with the breadth of world, the width of
Heart – a size of hold in pointing out: this biblical proportion.
Green upon a devil’s eye, bountiful and smiling. Teeth made
Round by biting down on all that does surround me and, in
Efforts to restrain his thought, bring something like a want
To out into this dark of night, this stuck of being. There’s a
Presence in these words, clearest message in this rubbing –
That by force still feels confusing; by comparison, too soon.


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