The chimera my arch moral
smells a concealed superb view to escape?
Smell, caring not it’s decency or termination of I, an appendage, oh extermination toward light of the vista, intensional, without placation, spreading death.

Smell not sinking to deceit under the eye rebels, carving a crescent for departure.
Under its care a rat-a-atat. It lept-to-that: a farce of parts to all that cares
forgiving his captain, temperate and autonomous and boring. Caring entrances in
cap, tic-toc tip-hat, charring puta existence of a singular, charred puta trail
is moored for captain light.

Smell sunk down to lacrimal caring so intuitive,
so condensate,
a crescent
is faked cut by barbers
so solid it cannot indicate incited declension or statues of sorrow,
unblind it plunders more to
within luminary lore
than its odor so bizarre.

Without tumbling into care of crescents nefariously multiplied
without accumulation into more sites hoi polloi
cares without coming forth, money without feminine trysts for moding
more morning replicants
without accumulation today.

This is a transmogrification of Mihail Gălăţanu’s Umblînd prin lumea morţilor. Last year I swore I’d try this. I didn’t. This year I won’t delay. Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt reminded me of neglect. Not that looking around or within doesn’t, but being reminded anonymously and in an utterly different context has much more strength. Others had a better term for the form, but I’m failing also in remembrance.

By “not delay” I also mean I won’t overly edit. I’m not sure. There are subtexts in my mind but not necessarily in my text. I also didn’t listen to the reading. My eyes heard the words in their own way.

Some phrases here I really enjoy.