a forest of such
abject
darkness? bring a flashlight?
this forest---so dark it defies optic capacity--only gets darker the deeper one goes in.
deeper within this forest is where one can find mount magazine.
deeper within this forest is where one will forget every childhood experience
he or she
holds dear--deeper within this forest--is where
the only real version of your
(my) reality can be found
most cannot be bothered
with this--reality is too full
of mythic genius
of charismatic truism--wit--quirk to
possibly have more than mere
surface value.
i would like to take a moment
upon the proverbial soapbox, to declare
that i am not an interface that was created.
to sift.
through the deepest of your sediments.
for i will take your deepest
and raise you the rarest
of which can only be found in
trenches, incalculaby deep trenches one could not calculate the depth of, no mattey hard they try.
only phantoms know of these fathoms
and i never said i'm not a ghost.
(i admit to having fallen off the wagon of poetics. i will catch back up soon enough.)
(because for every field in this forest, there is a mole.
with the soil he stole.)
(and the sightlessness that lets him go free.)
