after taking the time to cool off, let's discuss this like adults, whit

in the down-greying of a 1 something 2 something am something paris sort of city night, bones tired and bent, deflated.
I saw LEAVES and I saw GRASS, but darlin’  I saw no LEAVES OF GRASS.

I saw leaves. Brown, chez moi chez the natal soil of this blood flooshup organic system human woman-girl trying to get a real, a really real answer from dead pages and a dead man

BROWN, looked like they would make that almost appetite savory sort of CRUNCH that leaves who are,  brown and crimpled, simply supposed to make A sound, specifically a that sort of former sort of a sound

but the leaf squished in .5 seconds, and unceremoniously with an imagine SSSCHLOOOP future sucking noise, popped back into place. a leaf form. a perversity, a
LEAF FRAUD
YES yes let me tell you WHIT. There are no leaves of grass here. Maybe they were and the paris handful-ers got em or the scene box of a gallery’s fluorescent glow shriveled them all of but they are all
IMPOSTERS.

let me tell you whit...
man to man.


sittin pretty and and that distance, Whit,  WHIT.
THAT DISTANCE...

from THAT distance, which was 4 times hit by bullet blood dawn dam horrors
ooze,  and spreads and agonies are cried towards whichever is closest, above or below
agony which lived and fed and
was backed by the pulsing, beating, quaking vein of your HOMME, LIVING, HOMME,  HOMME, DYING,

YOU, WHIT, YES YOU THE MAN SOUL AND YOUR PEERS THOSE WHO BREATHED YOU AS YOU MOLECULED TO THEM BACK IN 0 two yes oxygen same time alive)

 as a creature who could INCUR these four time bullets,
and these bullets they OPENED YOU UP.
WITHOUT SUCKING IT ALL BACK, RELEASE AS A CANNIBALISTIC THING!,
bringing YOU back WHIT to where it  crawled out of\
sucking all of it back like SCHLOOOP a leaf SOUND NON LEAF see?

These 4 bullet morality wakeups were truly at least somewhere nearest nearwest of HEROIC. horrible, heroic, the man as the enemy and the man in double jeu HIMSELF
age old centuries won HEROIC  EXPECTATIONS FOR BLOODSHEDS

21st century?

21.21.21.21.21.21.

21 apathetic and half assed prone to itching sting BINGS, STINGS,
that give us no awe and no distance

no shut up
or shut eye

because our war, whit’s war, well  isn’t as democratic anymore in its casualties


BUT MAN TO MAN, put on your hat take a pipe, cigarette, smoke as you want
tell me about that indian squaw your mother saw
did she make an impression on you,
did you leak
your dreams
did you leap
and make it
was she
leaking
did you make it

nod one, twice, three times i fling you out my window only because i trusted you most.

regardless,

there is a slow emerging theme;
one I console,
until
It is
always strange, always home
paradise we are, to paradise returning

regardless,

I AM PILGRIM and I AM I AM I AM