The existencial loss of ideal, connect to the pleasure , in it’s self, works only through the etherialization into the micro- elements, that travel ever for through.
Limits then recede miniatures become haunted,
and dropped into the tiniest parts,
Once there You,
anew , hold, it
takes root,
a new baby cries, tries again gasping
and remembers, little
little oh,
My joy, my heart,
hold on .
Tripitch #2
“Momma why do whites hate blacks”?
Cause sugar, when momma came here , paid for the price of blood diamonds, 'childe, momma was in grandma’s belly.
Most die on ships coming over from africa, and then resold on open market, for breed’n.
Now once free, then told momma to go back home, but sugar there ain’t no home for momma to go back to , see, cause momma don’t speak but english, and no folks longing for momma to see there no ways now how.
and now sweet, white folks hate momma because black folks don’t matter no mo, don’t fit nowhere, used merchandise only drinkin’ and us’in now, and u chil’ you ain’t none better then momma. . but maybe better lookin.
Sweetums hold on to momma, i am the only thing you’ all ever get to have beside u.
You ain’t none too good like momma., but ya still young.
“But momma, Oprah and that Kamala lady running with biden them matter…”
Child, them are props, used for them nearsighted , and oversold.
Goodnight momma, good night child’.