never give all the heart, for love is a blabbering occluding supercluster,
blocking sense in its infinite varieties while he that made this
(knowing full well all the costs) comes forth at you: dynamic in person
but also, sure, a sub-classed article, broaching forth like
ice in clipped snowclouds… impressive, but vague…
i made the news once but never gave all the heart i stood there
looking ambient, and blank, thinking of how some cat-clawed
painting of a great grandfather hangs in the parlour, gathering dust
despite the wealth that made this, all of this around you
in the future we will become, deaf a dumb too.
barnacles on rocks, brief & dreamy & other-words with
other associated narratives (so, it seems, all for love)
but in whatever cleft of ocean you reside, remember,
(in the not-quite-ironic words of he that died making this)
remember, never give anything.