Its The Messege And You,...
disssssarray convincing the floor to shiver me into a meter of maternal like prose with a shuddering of my synapses belligerent and my brain drowning in its fourth dimension or the fourth dimension maybe drowning in its siblings i find it almost improbable that the jumbled ball of words rolling probably impatiently bouncing maybe even being too frail to uphold its participation in gravity's game and shattering upon impact from the cavern of my nonplussed mouth should materialize in an elusive fragmenting climatic disassociation find it so unlikely that a word will even take it upon itself to straggle to the surface instead i just stare at the collapsings of clouds into sky and sun into me and become the shivers that they imbibe