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I(N)ert

šŸ•³

By Paul BeckettPublished 3 years ago ā€¢ 1 min read
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I(N)ert šŸ•³

Matter thatā€™s darkest, the goddess inert. Undetectable only, lmited certainty (because itā€™s fucking inert!)

Electro-magnetic technologies. We.

Our pathology, obviously. Un-learn to see.

Itā€™s from here I draw. No observable matter., rather scatter its mysteries. Strung tendrils, ever closer under waters. Denser theory. Pull code. Ripped.

Woven often, said, a kin to a weft. Deftly itā€™s limitations move in one dimension. A retention.

As my ill informed pathophysiology clenches pages to tinder in between my thumb and ring finger.

Just impressions though, nought tangible. Wrangle forth.

Stifled capillary mystery mastery begins.

Not in mortal danger, verbatim, lately safety lived outside. Under.

Vasoconstricted limbs, locked-jaw reaction recedes slower.

Warmth bleeding info flesh thatā€™s still frozen. Olfactory fragrances flummoxed. Submerged.

Chosen particulates percolating at the blood-brain-barrier burden. Queues in herded bunches

Flashing fire banished as they spread in the groove of each print spiral. Visually captivating. Reinvigorating sling shots burn like clinker. Potent thinkers, sunk.

Wrought at odd angles, shameful paw paddles. Dip donā€™t dazzle, cytoplasmic distress signal. Pokes with both hands. A sham for propulsion. Coke black discord harvester.

Resistance is futile, I gift grief to her current. Drift closer to catatonic, cache.

Remedy sister suspension steered closer than a fatal out-of-orbit.

Under surface see Sylviaā€™s ā€˜diamonds and squaresā€™ carpet runway stretching.

Infinity thinner, never moving closer. Yet in the cloak dimmer. Trimmed off the fat as all else disintegrates further.

Eating digestives, remorselessly eating.

Murkier lately, criticism from the green eyed moody monster. Assumptions can be counter productive. Donā€™t perceive. See, plutonic and happy. No romantic seed.

Disgruntlement, no veranda to squander me under. From a poor fishing town of mum, sister and gran(d). It was. In darkest, deepest corners I still mourn her.

https://link.springer.com/referenceworkentry/10.1007%2F978-1-4419-1005-9_43

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_matter

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Paul Beckett

Iā€™m a writer, horologist & joy filled fantasist. Reality to me is plastic. Iā€™m fascinated with time, quantum physics, analogue and fashion.

My writings at least 69% autobiographical, often 99%

Fav:Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams- S.Plath

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