I'm bent at right angles over my own brain. Scalpel and saw set aside for soldering iron and sculpting steel.
I trace copper lines that course up and down, over and through; back around, they end with you.
I frown and kill a current with a fingertip calloused from coals. That's not where that should go. Or lead. Or come from... What the fuck is going on in here?
I reshape my neuroplasticity with little pieces of gentle flak. The sparks from my welding are purple and pearl, with smoke that curls into golden ratios. I know that loyalty needs no fusing; those wires are tempered with blood and iron.
I also know that tiny tinkering is no substitution for double-edged surgery.
I need both.
11:12 p.m. - 2014-07-08
Recent entries:
Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
Heartdesert - 2018-06-25
Elliptical - 2018-06-25
Back and Callback - 2018-06-18
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