thinking too much

there is a rumour
of empty space
its hallow call
fills the breath
of room it
usually occupies

as it tries its
feeble best
to spread its peace

the clusters of chaos
have advancedly arrived
they nudge and jostle
trilling their slogans
each wanting to
trigger

struggling one above the other
to subsume
in desires to consume

“that is the dilemma when you think too much”

insatiable

sinking my teeth in

letting the subjective gush out

it pools metaphorically around my wettish, wrinkled toes

wasted with a hungry willingness

sated yet ever greedy

glutted yet voracious for more

consumed with a tenacious menace

all

that refuses

to be written or read.

The Thin-king

Thin-king
always famished
is he.

devouring my words;
let him do so

lest he nibble upon thoughts
chewing description
beyond
recognition

the thin-king detests!:

thesmoothsphericalfullnessofflow

(it gives him indigestion)

what do you know?
no what to know
no nothing to know

their only thin-king
they
do