The Little Knew Too Man, Or A Tetrahedral Guru Hutch

All the stories in stones
And in beakers and bones
All the salt in the sea

It’s lonely out there: 16 satellites homing in on the cold dark outer rim; an edge of oblivion that becomes populated each focus of the camera; an outside ear listening to the tittering of some terminal star. You’re just the juice from someones’ apple, a slick-wet subliminality draining backend forwards, not even a tear-jerk response, but a salival rush attempt to stamp out any recognition, any connection between their dialed up self-volume and your edgy whisper shaking the chains. It’s all in the image of higher consciousness, the place we call emotive, that never once could be thought animal. Here's your fear. Simple and low brow you gag on some spoonful of what ifs, gob a gasp and settle back thinking there's nothing outside your belief that could ever be more real than your rolls of money, your thick thread count sheets of portfolios. I know you have a secret, a pile of asps nipping at the inside cuff, that all that’s you you tie up in them, their shadows and words and pantomime hands acting as much or more than you’ve known yourself to dance. So this is sociopathic, I suppose, but maybe I’m just a different egg of another clutch, maybe I’m caught up in the solar Ephesus, winking lash of Luciferan expression, the possibility of dreaming freedom in a form of fledgling divinity.
But with shirt sleeves buckled and tied, I cant per se argue against your social clan, your obvious god-like wisdom read out from black books and dusty volumes still scratching at the surface of my lens. You get in the way of me, with your love and loyalty, your idiotic prophecy, your human rationale washing out instinct of what you know is.
I’ve a split cranium from sun poisoned streets, baked pavement leading along the errants and viceroys, and this blue blown summer gas is more depleting while the young live for melanomatic activity. So, rub your eyes and adjust the subtle hazel to brown so that maybe without squinting I can see around your void bodies ambling crudely through my thoughts.