at the very base of my creative zone:
(it is the case)
where i much rather sit alone.
with my hands molded by needle, thread, pen, and seam ripper.
(in so far) as this logical syllogism is a poetic dripper rationality will incite plausible prisms and rhythms!
if by striking the chords of the chandelier…
the glass in shattering keeps me in the clear:
to the cut

deduced by sight or fear.
imagining ruthless rundowns, which inspires: ‘what ought you do…” (from soul to crown)
if you should groove with a raving hypothetical dancer – may your answer stay funky and MOVE your monkey!alright!
“that’s way too much”
said the questioning touch who’d rather go dutch
(avoiding the whole bill, with much less time to kill!)
notwithstanding as these words spiral
at the rate wherein this conclusion goes viral
it goes without saying:
if your breath is rank and spraying
don’t speak the air of death against my withering neck, stand mint strong and reverse your outcome next !