when reactionary, i feel furthest from God
4:36 p.m.

what do i do with this intensity?

it doesn't feel like a solid thing i can condense into concentration.

i want to mold it. i want to take this stuff - that shakes my very being's center so wildly, that creates in me this need for a diffusion, that makes me want to delve into an unreachable blackness for fear of my own heart - i want to take this stuff. i want to mold it.

i feel as if i know two halves of my friends and two halves of myself.

one is the surface, the other is the meat.

why can't we live in the meat?

i knew where i was every step of the way.

in search of an outlet for this great pull, this tide in me, this sunset-felt, powerful, "hush, don't say a word," sort of gaze.

where can i put that shit now?

the stone skips, but is not devoured to become flesh.

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