Chronic pain is washed away as clouds are made of blood and things
Air becomes my order in-poured my eyes canβt see gas in that range
Concepts before that connect in ways complex and many sacrifices made
To what amount is never known but bodies keep the score in years
All gone with patchy vapor in place acting as my skin my case
Angel lift me up I would take to wing silently
from march 1, 2022 poem from the past a day #36 using leftovers in the pool of creative energy that made Lorelei, this is a sort of coda or additional thought left in melancholy like dead leaves in a forest. featuring exactly one interpolation of my poem Order, because that's what i'll be doing from now on. my style became extremely self-referential for awhile (i still think i favor this mechanism of writing) like a celebration of what it took in the past to come up with the best of my ideas in the present.