as i read the house of leaves

breathe here and breathe out. don’t let the moment take its flight. so now we regress and we witness the white noise you’ve been so careful about. take it in little strides. pounce back for comfort. when you see the orange lilies not existing can you then hear the sound of the walls as they shift and how the hairy spectacle of Jacob’s artificial hands shot Esau right out of orbit. the House of Leaves can now commence.

oh but please don’t close in on me. i need you to stay in shape as i remember you.






and i remember the walls as i left them only to see them change as i count my steps. the way back home is not mine to trace, as the lines on my flesh speak for the sorrow in my veins. and my eyes they plead like the darkness facilitates but it hesitates.

so i evaluate.

the moment in which i begin to speak in tongues so far from the birthplace of my being, the physical entity that which incorporates the feet of the hopefuls, loving in fear and never in deed. the building spaces stretch like