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The Ballad of Ki'yo Chokma
A foggy world in a forehead of tangles
A mountain reaches upwards, peak piercing the clouds
And the threads unravel.
In a movement of great inertia
Everything has led up to this
The man's eyes remained open
And his soul sunk into bliss.
A network of streamers, strings and loose ends
Collapse in a puff of air
Now his mind could be anywhere.
Oh no, it's right here, in fact
Floating around the room
A disjointed cluster of yellow ideas and yellow tears
Tap against motionless balls of white porcelain.
With a start, he erupts
Leaps up from the chair
And in ravenous breaths, pulls blood from thin air
In effortless breaths, smoothly rips out his hair
Rips the baby, of course, mother of nowhere
Look inward? Oh, don't, you'll just meet a blank stare
His body multiplies
And he takes to the streets
Breaks the bones of a traveler
And the watchman, on his beat
Synchronized swimming, this dastardly god
Each Ki'yo Chokma
Now travels abroad
But in a twist, it would seem
He still sits right here
His many forms fast-collapsed
Is it really so queer?
Splitting fibers forgotten
Sitting, turning to ash
Take a man of pure reason
Make him Hyde from the flash
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This article has 1 comment.
With this piece I wanted to paint a picture of perfectly reasonable individuals being whisked into Hydean frenzies unprovoked. The title roughly translates from Chickasaw as "not good" or "bad hello." I didn't want to use a real name in order to preserve the idea that not this not only could be everyone, but that this Ki'yo Chokma person really is everyone.