Bubbly Frameworks

                        around the hospital bed which we’re having none of. I used to think
but I try not to. The means of getting solid objects together
is to go to parties so you can pull the mess apart
to then see that it’s OK. It really is alright.
Perhaps you were just very orderly though, while they
were wild and angry? Or living? But I am too cohesive for all this now!
We set off for the city, not in hope, but in rigidity,
which has been sold to fund the creepy islands, so what use
is it to play with morality? I think of his easy
old face on Sundays. Who cares.
What a waste all that noise was too! And the voices?
Who were the voices? Imagine if they could die
right now. All of them! And they still shout!
But it must be a metaphysical framework, and that
is casting off all your old friends, for you are now
an adult. Though never forget to be somewhere
in the middle. And the spiritual work, if you can see
St. John? It’s just someone else’s journey; I wouldn’t find it at too old
an age, as that’s just pulling the whole thing together
for them like connectives. Now, loads of friends?
Just a riff before someone commits suicide.
It’s like Russian roulette blindfolded, you
aghast when you realise there was a gun the whole time. Your body
was also alive. And your finger?! Pointing at yourself!
Always! This is where the bubbles come in: never
ever pop too soon that early noise, which
is like a baby’s gurgle, which everyone stares at
and longs for: go back go back! Without pushing
too far as there are societal norms, reper-
cussions, designed, ironically, by creepy islanders.