The nothing that is absolutely
the beginning of the descent
Feels like the beginning of the descent. A hum of dullness. The nothing that is — absolutely — some feeling, warm grey, fuzzy reverberating. We meet again, my friend. All of this — transitory — yet there is definition, fixedness, a way of working with energy. Structuring — that and this. A pincushion. The needle sliding through resisting particles. Difficult to penetrate surface tension, and then easing in . Slow, gentle, violent sweetness. Smooth, cool metal warmed by flesh, resting its head on plump red roundness. As together as two things can be. Yet still — separate entities sharing space, displacing, for a moment, the illusion of solidity.
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This is ASTONISHINGLY good. Mystic poet vibes. Awareness beyond awareness. Dancing with AI. Vibrators. All of it. And it just flows SO well. So many poems I stumble over at one place or another. Even great ones sometimes. But yours? Always an easy flow, breathtaking yet understandable.