light me, please

you talent me into believinghow i make things fall apart like my one explanation of how the spaces here concur

light me, please (a series)

by: brandon borcoman

imagine me placing myselfin a room throwing offmasks i forget my eyes my smile i forget how to strange

in the wild of sitting still a chairwith three legs fixing in suspension :i place my hand in the blankness and learn

how to walk upon slippery while my footprints feel laced, creviced. i flashlight my face : wooden / dark

in my attempt to electric i socket myself and wail things: a glass fixture of my mother a placid lake a reintegration

(as if) this lacked enough, i founded a belief in placement as in the placement of your neck replicating my own. i press repeat in your soft place ,do you like it

my language that tends toward fondle and speculation regarding the magic of this : nothing appears to bend

so i set the fire on grass and reel i say light me, please andtoss upon oh, to be wrecked in blades and green

slitting tiny magic with fists i light needles and watch my mirrors this is ecstatic i breathe in and

fall abstractly in love between rain clouds i supersonic myself with mustache and think life is composed so strict-formed and what does it feel like

to rapidly grope for the smooth whilein the corner there lays semblance draped upon the windowsill. slowly i unfurl it

with words though, none of this speaks relevance to my outering of space. i conjecture:possible is where two points meet so as to plethora

it is in this thrustwe walk upwards steep ourselves into the forcibly calm binding experiments of stupification

if to wake means slipping let me bright & shine on let the dirt make up my face and change my buttons horrifically

i think to perfectis too intensely i say don’t perfect me, i need creases where the smooth used to lay i need blankness to be ready when i am

but today i’ll sit here in linger so coffee will have to light my face with bulbs i’ll glee phantasmagorically

pursuing myself to revere inaction i’ll murmur : how does my skull lookenlightened, is it shiny

like kant said it is imperative to act within categories of ends or something stupid i can’t even remember without spacing myself

revealing only in glimmers. but, really THIS IS HOW I SCARE :taking big huffs and letting it back under where i hold my every alteration

in this place, yeah i scream up eulogies pondering the significance of lying still in panic. i gaze while the ceiling lowers to meet my face

i guess i go weepy searching for some rigid form to stick me or scoop me you know,scoop me

yes, the end