a mud revolution and chair consciousness

we can dig a hole in the ground and make it our house
land that exists of extraction
an abundant amount of potential soil
on a field of forgotten flesh
let’s expose ourselves to some mud
a living archive maintained by the death
bricks of earth compressed to solid solutions
i wanna make it my dwelling
and smell i am home
occupy the walls and sit on everything
houses are holders
constant containers that need to be filled
filled with a bodily existence that’s not reduced to an eyeball empire
where the visual king imposes his liquid laugh upon the hesitant
continuously taking from my fingers and skin
i was hoping to hold your thoughts in my hands
but it is just breast between the water
we need more doors and chairs
more pebbles and silt
all placed on a plate
where the chair holds herself and holds someone’s else’s form
we need chairs stable enough to stand upon
layers of words reach a distance outside the man-made-map
which gives us five minutes to inhale some imagination
followed by a fog of realism that decides to place herself around us
can you hold my upper left leg?
it needs some attention
i will hold your elbow in return