circulate a wrecked ideology, functionality
clotted. My indecisive voice cracks,
in this new school stage. What magnets repel,
and does the flipside attract? Which end matters?
Renovation drips to the floor,
by a breached ambience. Whored pensiveness
injects the flickering blue blaze. insinuating white bookshelves,
among walls of radical waters.
that mutates over my cousin’s face. I move my head crabwise, taken by a
micro-being trip. I scrutinize the room’s framework,
down to each fizzing molecule. Apply reason to the raw blueprint,
or is everything stone cold? Am I manipulative?
“Does your life ever seem.…
unreal?” The ductile windowsill convulses. “No.” Everybody says no.
If I understand otherwise, I negate. She’s never talkative
unless I instigate. We’re muted to the inquisitive show,
spewing chaotic noises.
And I dropped out of duality. My eyes are compromised, intuitively
plucking thoughts, the fetuses actively aborted.
Nothing but neutral ground to cover.
--Steven Leonardo Clifford was born in 1984, and lives in New York. He’s diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder, and remedies his mental illness by writing poetry and fiction.