[POEM UNITS]
I need to keep a promise of an engagement of faith in language and a virtue of sight in ontology and a far reaching subjectivity of epistemology in the region of promises where it is possible once more for words to become real if given to the merits of bombed-out acephalous poem units in the machine when hampered by screws falling into sinks after knotting up in metaphysical sporting events at 2:00 AM during coffee time on academic lunch break before consciousness rates hot biker babes and when aesthetics weren't nootropics and so on and so forth you sexy pile of it
[POEM UNITS]
Doing nothing with it the merely lexical melds like glistening fungus over the last table for miles and rife with honorary velvet-dysphasic lacerations of crystallized nomenclature fraught with love in night's rhythm and rhythm's daybreak as every humid breeze whispers bombed-out acephalous poem units after installing my brand new bathroom sink as if groping for a mountain range intuitive enough for a syncopated reverb-jungle synchronized with diachronic affectations streaking through a series of "my what a dazzling shadow of an emblematic cape you are or something" and so on and so forth you sexy pile of it
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