DRAFTstudio niner

at the edges of this box
the acoustic whispers
reach painted jarrah splinters
still
i'm crouching deep here
trying to stay frosty
in this fat bitter heat
covering my sector
in sonic waves as if
as if
i were a vainglorious chemical reaction
a violent distortion
of fact
of fiction
from the ceiling, bleeding
spitting, our melanin shared
in thick wet shafts, deeper than our skin

at some point i can
potentially bend you
in quantum nonchalance
a february ray
of clitoral light,
in cliched velvet curtain
in the black corner
in out
in out
breathing in short
sharp bursts
as hostile
as this day
ever
gets