[ a.ku.ma. ; the cobalt theorist ]

[Written on 22/8/2017]

A boy stands – –
– – and bears no crude telling—no rabbit-eyed, cog-laced moniker.
and the vital ever-drone of mortal pattering
precedes him.
( and he could’ve sworn they came to carve a sea of rulers—
crook-and-tallied with mortimer limbs and drowned in belly-fulls of
tellurian fauxcider ; – spiced with Neptune and an inkling of bluebird salt,
as the recipe goes—)

A boy stands – –
– – and in creeping tow—waft scabrous hands:
exiles off the charted vales of Drosselmeyer — the old lore-lusting cadaver.
they arc and cast airs like hexed harpoons, ailing mimickers of graver portents—
of the long-horned Final Days.
( he keeps a keychain for a token of such looming times:
a shapen Babylon bodied with toyland-scrapers
and no miniature harlot in sight. )

A boy stands – –
– – eyes poised as parlours for the twilit homeless and marbled—( oh-so beyond-ly—)
as chromallyn compasses.
i am misfit,
croons the aurora down the spineless canal, past the vorpal loft that teems (startling) with wind-up comets (and a giddy rocking-horse rhyme- -)
(and while the earth spins a maw out of matcha-foil and plays society’s latrine for all-dastardly-time- -)the attic resides in the heart, pulsed with wonderland readings—
to this, he endeav

i am misfit i am )

-ours a sweet return.


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