Endless Progress in the Consumption by Fire

An ordeal by fire? Dazzling operatic numinous ineffable.

Rules without lenience.

Whenever seems to be getting awfully close — to revealing this niche, a great pigfish in the accumulations of my thirst.

That we would have to in some way exchange “pleasant” thoughts on the deep sorceries that occur here in the exploration of liquid, of the fire water.

Pursuing liaison? would have to admit my beautiful sins, I mean how? asks my Virginia. To a third party (other than family)?

Something always blows up, blows me down, begets domination? The shell closes in —

Called by others my flowers of poison. In camp we all would whisper: Raids.

Whirls of tension that milk bilk silk, on longnoses. Pensive pulling counterpointing, plaintive.

I eat their fire and it eats me!

“Nesting” is a feminine buttress? pursuit of consent? a ceremonious construction?

Morphological consent? Yeah. Morphological consent.

Resistance to The Feminine. I am its combustion, its composition, its turret, its archangel sepulchering. I cant escape its holus bolus. So instead, throw it into the fire — as weak and fatal?

Let bleed to the sky? betray the moment, mourn the hours, catalog “things that erupt with beautiful sorrow,” swim against current, storm with desire, play dead, send out feelies, make them “pay,” raid the ketchup.

I am startled by the beauty that abides my absentia, its thickening thrums of dismay.

Entering the eyeball, screaming — there must be another way.

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