by Micah Giraudeau
i set the in and out points so the loop runs short: over and over and over.
i wake up (eyes open) in hopes to find an ignoble disruption.
i have these mixed feelings about the empty fields you see along highways harvested of trees: i like the fact that they’re there but feel a great loss for the same reason.
helpless to stop or slow down,
but there’s another one up ahead and there will be more.
cognizant of my present state, i look for some sort of alteration.
it’s sort of like how a “hey” text moves through space and gets lodged between your head and chest, but more frequently.
the feeling is like a stone
that’s somewhere between, since
rocks are talked about more often than pebbles.
looking at my hands, i search for some semblance of minimal variance.
the michael kors supplier in my spam folder isn’t getting any easier to ignore.
it’s like an eardrum in front of a constant subwoofer or watery eyes before an industrial fan:
rotary movements, yeah
it’s like every other exhalation is manifesting itself in the form of a cough. insert the clichéd phrase regarding the difference between breathing and living here.
there are lots of differences
between woah and woe but they both sound the same.