Touch Yourself

The stand in will suffice, I suppose. A tunnel painted on a brick wall.
When the crowd arrives in droves, they don’t question the depth at all. I got a
weak heart, so I’ve heard. I wouldn’t know because it hasn’t said a word. All
these winters, not a sound. It probably never had a chance to thaw out. You
don’t touch what you want to survive, so this distance is keeping me alive
until the ones that have loved me are dead. I will hold my breath. And pray
that my aim is true. The meat sits in my blind spot. The maze around it is the
meal I want. The meat sits in my blind spot. Hallelujah, got a trophy kill.
Maybe the flesh will have its day. Maybe the meaning will not get in the way.
God saves every third person, but he won’t help us if we help ourselves I only
marvel at existence in the language existence permits. Most hearts make
terrible sounds, so I laugh. An army of images stalks the land in search of
ideas. I am struck only when I think to step back. So a stand will suffice, I
suppose. A tunnel paint on a brick wall. When the crowd arrives in droves, they
don’t question the depth at all.