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Grind
There is a memory
haunting,
disjointing me,
like layered harmonies
split in two
and played in reverse
against each other.
Grind.
The grinding of teeth.
The spine-tickling sense
of contractions within
the belly of the beast.
The growl it emits.
Apalled.
Substance dissolves
into a mass, slow
vibration.
The fullness of Zero
evolves.
Grind.
The grind underneath
folds,
grates our souls
into confetti
until we collapse,
frictionlesssss.
A disconnected radio
fizzles out
decaying sound:
Saliva dribble
vaporized
before it hits
the ground.
Grind.
Grinded into dissociated
para
llels
before we align.
Screaming to touch
in agony.
Two godly hands
slice,
dice up my words
and scatter them
to different corners of the world
where they
settle atop like dust,
seep
and fade.
Existing,
invisibly
without each other,
like a dream
when nobody sleeps...
