Wednesday, December 7, 2022

15,834. FLAMES

FLAMES
I dreamed my robe caught fire, and
I was engulfed in flames. I hardly
ever wear a robe, so I'm not sure
from where that came. Ideas precede
essence, to twist a Sartrean mode.
-
Sartrean mode? Huh? You mean I need
think it before it can happen? No, not
really. Any Manhattan troglodyte can
tell you where the donuts are, but in a
dump like that they've always been.
Existence there precedes nothing.
-
It's all a maximum jumble and a minimal
twist. We go out the same way we came
in: unassuming, like a patch of clover,
or daisies in a field. I'd ask for a private
audience if I could, but no one's ever
there.
-
That robe? It's still burning, and all around
me flames consume my essence.

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