flip top

the wig furiates.  it twists it’s hage shaple.  it so much wants to wring the hectre shates; an incense burnt beyond rational construction.
abstract aggregates and fools, it rathes to gnag. the enraged stoke peels the sensitivities in whole rips and burns from the face of acceptance.
it wants obliteration, against the fit nots.  no times out to its game, it flips until it’s over.

the tendered edge

i want to be mad flown; frustrate; annihilate sown.  but you stand in my way.  my way-    lost to the toe you draw about me.  am me.  forever backward-  i find.  and i cannot argue with consistent or prolonged conviction.
my twirl-around fools none of your shadows.  your deeply is my in me. a voraciously stubborn charm on a crack and dandle.  strop the balance, venomous tear.
with somehow your touch, a reminder, scraping, and soothing.  you are where i see, and where i won’t see.
and you hold my well despite myself.