INSTANTIATE

Sensitivity is easy to proclaim and show, even when qualified as “poetic sensitivity,” no special achievement, just expected, and always resting in an instantiated condition posing as means to self-knowing. Never liked this simple man, this poet guy, she thought, with his impressionistic moves to closure, narratives that always ended in imprecisions’ attributes, just pulled structureless gears, a cloaked self-applause in that humane veiled empathy stuff — not a big deal and does not know it. She wants to cut his finger off, she further considered: hold down that hand and cut away and make him bite that detached finger’s nail. Show me how you supplement that nail crunch simultaneously with your want to fuck. You write me a poem and confuse ability with a meditative soul procedural that swaddles sentiment while fending off your fuck wants, just a linguistic stall, a preposition that carries no variables.