upon secret knowledge.

Intellect

is my essence.

And wither or not I posses a notable deal of it

is irrelavent.

Intellect

is my essence

in al its manifestations

and all the rises

and the falls

and the explosions

and tickels

of parallel

ntangaled

heavy magnitud of

universes

it holds.

I am in love with thoughts

and I sit in my room all day

reading

and writing

and wondering

really woundring

watching documentraies about how the world

that I in my specticle little existance

cannot consive

that snaches away words and speach

comes to be

comes to be

and I read textbooks I have borrowed

from our homely

school library that isnt wooden

and old and ragged

isnt new and crystal

but is rubber 

and is plastic

mundainly being.

I hardly understand much

but when I do

when I do

how it is a revolution

I am born with my happiness

wrapped in intellect and artistic pursuits

which is also wrapped

in sheer spiked advirsity.

And so I go on

in the midst of my intellectual

mediocrity

scholastic empidament

meloncholy

unaware

if my depression causes

my academic falling

or if my academic falling

causes my depression

I live with the smell of death

in the corners of m door

rubbed against my rug

in my womb

I rais pestilence within.

And comes days

I read of the cosmos

listen to the sounds of jupiter
and speak

speak incessantly

to god

god

and the stench of death

eases.