Templeton

An Apothecary of Thought.

Strained ascension
dimples
rosy eye lined sa-tiredness.
such involuntary attraction.
but it's good. It is good.

Sticky fingers. Stick-key fingers.
I'm such a loon. Such a buffoon.
A numb skull. A trite bilge man.

hills are golden
solemn things
with overgrown pterodactyls and
steaming old men in the hot
springs. Disgusting. Eww...

Some sort of terminal rage, creeping.
some sort of albino masochist bereaving.
some bereft planet. Some soft-spoken little girl.

My eyes deceive. Orange blur.
cold sprung loot simpson. Darkening
spirits in the lobby. Little children
looking like grown men.
sickness like a sad dog. wagging slower...
slower...
waining.
quivering.
accepting.

A stellar apocalypse. A mean in the
madness to the stars of infinity
and some sort of rancid bullshit.

A kiss.
So sunken into my mind it is.
I will not realize for hours
what has happened; That I have
had a kiss with the most beautiful
of young women. Some sort of disappointment
at not being stuck in that one moment for
the rest of forever.

Mold spillage. Jars of sickness ointment.
jars of old people. Jars of young people.
terrible pictures of the starry eyed little girl
fading out... and then suddenly back in, without
notice. She lives, that I may live. She exists
to keep me existing. Sadness was never a thing.

it never will be.