All Corners Made To Be Leaned

ALL CORNERS MADE TO BE LEANED a house in a house guarded against the risk of misfitting the body an awl you feel at ease with from time - to the same degree it’s salving you a whole journey took stage, rigidly enforced one might say it might have ended in tragedy, classic catharsis instead here a dwell in negative definiteness just like soaking horse lips insatiably thirsty for a creek - soft and humble, yet vast. why is you house-shaped - is it you are providing a home? 'what is left of home than an utter sense of bleakness, really?' - your solitude venting, it’s still not able to traverse, still hung up on perfect edges though they long since watered down into serpentines. a practice of bottoming from the top, who’s dissent as crucial as its soft-edge don’t hesitate to linger in what’s always slipping and twitching and crouching from your grip sit down on the silkish and watery - just to learn that from this perspective, the necessity of w-questions has dissolved but still the i-question - again: is you already home? is a house shape enough? my dear - we're here harvesting, picking the buttons prepared to intertwine two sides of the same coin you and the arrows that have drawn you slung further to built more home-shaped-hearts. your thoughts endure a frame less frail where all corners are made to be leaned all the in-betweens sowed to sojourn internal spaces all set up to make you both - fugitive and furniture-hermit. sirens strike up an eerie sound, they echo back from our walls like violins. now a time to leave your beloved verge but letting what’s still composing with you stick on your back like bubblegum. no clockwork in becoming, just making yourself house-shaped, home-shaped. a let-go to serenity, my dear since you’ve been weaponized with a warm shoulder. while spiraling down dainty branches of cohesion while now prepared to face your reflection in you, reminiscence is built with oneself its occurrence in every water, every silk, everything specular or written - finally housebroken. frankly, there’s been no anxiety more draining it has even left purple traces on coping-relics - the paperpillar in front of you. still, a thing as worthy as the no - thing there is no matter if you just pretend to be wooden, if you pretend to be fabric while merely being plastic it’s all part of the you - house. however wretched taste it has left in your mouth you've never got to savor a taste more moreish.