That Which is Easier Said than Done

My larynx exhales chocolate that blots the future.

You could be this whole aluminum world, I say,

with melting palms that could cook a god like poultry.

An artificial shine in divine eyes attracts the crows,

kills them as they swallow trash. You could glow, I say,

tributes erected that scream in flapping tongues

like candy wrappers; you could grow, I say,

and pluck the universe as your roost.


My throat coughs jasmine incense. We die explaining

to our deities that jasmines could represent hope

in cultures not our own. I could grow myself,

I say, but others will have to explore jasmines

in my place, in meanings not my own.

I speak chocolate where others forget the roasted

lust for food. The taste that the future is splotched.


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Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

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