aphasic

because while plastic bristles rejoice in rotation, and i hear the momentum's hand turning towards rejoy, damp notes pushing moist lips to the side, and the overture air with the basso collides.

like the tailspin of the rotary words snap with the pull of a hamstring and my eyes are fixed through a haze but i can't push play. fingernails glisten on the contrast key a spasm of a spitting spleen biforked tongue calling out to phase but i can't push play. window washed white drops that dribble down though i'm holding tight single-hand ploy built on dead dismay cuz i can't push play. a break on the hand that holds your own heart of a soul that's duly sewn he is not a blame. not a frame. not a game. it's me. i can't push play.

I am the smoke that lingers within the breath of stale rooms; clinging to myself for the bends of stocked loneliness: amore che girando vertiginosamente, poi cade a pezzi. Amidst the seas of heads somewhere all my luminosity is fused, and i'm tormented by the constant glimpse of what i chose to kill, a dried wound of recognition (Fuckin-A! i'm swallowed once again, and my limbs are bound with no sign of approval). Oh the chants of Gregor, sleepless soothers of faith and clattering wooden teeth. Unable to let this go the tones then paused: my muffled voice of clustered foliage and hidden pleasure, i stretched my skin