Slugs from Light Scraps by Blackstallion

I can't fuss with these slugs living in simulation.
Each day feeling more like Neruda.

Eating the cherries of splendor tossed in my lap
by the branches overhead.

Thinking, if you forget me, I will have already forgotten you.
But until then, I will stumble through with my headlamp.
Bursting through the gloom with a luminous sincerity.

I can hear them laughing at it already.
I'm growing limbs just to cut them off again.
It's transient and holy.

My mouth is bursting with the flowers I'm swallowing.
They can laugh if they want. (but it won't stop me.)

*

This is Billy Stallion here. Thank you for taking this journey along with me.

Signing out.

• Antimusic
• Blues
• Reno