WEBVTT

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Tonight, this is a short
poem called "Epiphanies

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of Suppression (3)."

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No, it's this world
we know little of.

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Kindly it hides and
gratefully we are hidden.

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So mentality drives the
spoon, noting lips' aspirant

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deference.

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Got to get by without a
ladder's seemly plaque.

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Where to spin?

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The cotton lurches for its gin.

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But fear never trusts its maker.

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Eyes hold glances to know
containedness, ignite each door

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to dissimulate
apparatus' reliquary.

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Or holes to holler to.

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