Such-and-such, and so-and-so
You will snuggle, and remain, and encapsulate—
So, Great Culture, that is the prosperous link, and said love.
Its bourbon is bottled and locked in flit-loose sand,
the dune of grit, each speck possibly human,
each with jaw-chambers and relentless ideas.
Mine before that link I shanked beneath a rocky, busted hand.
I am jumpy and earmarked; I do the love.
So there is a nature, angry, wanking and shut up, faux ended,
having bristled a heart in my craw.
I tell such-and-such crave and so-and-so urge
to go without me, to go in a fashion quick and all hush-a-bye;
I slide down the backs of no other sand.
Great Culture: I am like you? Oh, like us.
Snails and flies give us this weep to carry,
so slow, so fast, some time or all time,
and the strong, bald urge, and the weak, link-breaker world...
they barter with one snuggle, react one mate, saying love.
Into it go so many.
Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son. He has been published in Aesthetica, BlazeVOX, and Pank, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. His novel Tatterdemalion was recently released in print and is available most places. He tries hard.
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take me home