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Things Fall in This Mess.

When I get high or drunk,
usually both, I find
there is a delay
between the imaginal,
conscious and cognizant
world of intent

and the body, sensorium
and umwelt,
attending the wedding of senses
and culture

and the phenomenal
world of action
and consequence.

The lie. The veil, the wool
pulled over my eyes.

This is how it seems
to me, in any case.
Things fall out
of alignment,


you catch
a bullet in the crossfire
of neurons. left
behind, forced to face
the fallout alone.

This mess
is all I have to go
on. I am passion,

to procure
something valuable
out of all of this stupid shit.


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