Sunday
Saturday
Friday
Thursday
the molecular artist
he’s beautiful in every dimension in every
perception in every iteration his hands breathe music his mouth is his pen
his mind his heart and even if he has no soul,
the particles which have painted
him have created a masterpiece greater than any he alone is capable of putting
on paper, his lines sharper than those he draws with a protractor, his eyes
projecting the holograms of what he believes to be his imposturous spirit,
yet
Truth is the singular thing he is capable of emitting
the only Truth i know to
exist,
the bleeding salt from the corners of his sailing ships, the most
beautiful feathered almonds, travelling to the moon and back,
and taking me
with him.
Wednesday
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