shiva

shifting on well worn
concrete loops these jagged
paths of practiced instinct
honed, really

interrupted by
the shadow of an irrepressible bastard and it is
cyclical the way all torrents of sin rain down and
become like a flag unto death and
why not
shirk the shell for the
visitable scrutiny of the strained grasping evinced by
selfish youth handjob stranded in the murk of maturity like a stain and

then in strange moments of peace it is
as if through soft repetition the world opens and
decency drifts out and an impressive series of lies & fuckups isn't the
long grift of gray dangling in the backdrop a self-
composed religion of bad decision compost bedding down
new growths and tomorrow is actually stunning mathematics and
infinity and
gold-hued comfort and
stable chemistry many-handed and both

concepts

are really all there is to grasp at and
all i deserve