wooden stool

supra modern unbuttoned #3

"What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no pleasure in not getting tired of it?" - A Substance in a Cushion

hard nosed shrub waiting to be worn. hard boiled legs, soft dip in the middle where wood hugs campanulate curves. curves undulating only suffer if not bent enough. loose stool stuck. rock solid you are no chair but a mountain, a throne for endless foreign materials. dirty stool you, stool with no body you. three legged dog without a tail in a coffin you once called home. comfort is not a class that’s luxury, bereft of real comfort. sardanapalus histrionics, that’s economy wearing opulence. only people can give you names like stool. my sit is your stand. the boredom of life on guard. torpor smoked right out of your arm. repurposed wood, dirty, unkempt. sitting under the bar made too like you. classless, for everyone, a home.

the glove will fit if you remove the pit. an inedible tree fruit reduced to imagery, two dimensional becomes three becomes two again. but if you bite the hidden bark the pain will surely break and then you will be one.