Romanticizing My Demon’s Arrhythmia

He claims it’s a matter

of impotence. A seed

that’s too soft for our


modern soil. He says

of my skull, coarse in

body and ectoplasm,

scrapes away his will

along with ventricles–


how he imagines diving

nude among coral reefs,


his perplexed genitals

mindlessly pursuing

endangered colors.


He claims tachycardia

what I call breathless.

It’s a matter of honor:

I inform him of volts.


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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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