Innocuous Pop Beat

My eyes vomit but suddenly recede to the meniscus form of a moon, an unintentional green tint of iris; this to describe my sudden skepticism towards the space between the heart in my left hand and the coin in my right. The coin is reason in itself; the heart is bracelets on during sex. I hate my skepticism.

I wish I could have been a little more oblivious. I put myself in the driver’s seat, woman sitting next to me, cruising the late night streets to an innocuous pop beat. Did the woman take off her bracelets during sex?

I know writers take liberties and therefore I wish I had been a little more oblivious to everything. Shuffling through. I wake up. A voice speaks: ‘I believe I walked a dream with you’. I believe not so and froth something Enochian back. I refocus to enact oblivion, to become more oblivious. ‘We do the best we can’ Faith replies. I just realized that a genius is someone who doesn’t specialize and I said to Faith: ‘Nonu Wope, lucifitias…’. Sleep is irreparable.
Genius is reason in itself.