In my received tutelage

I receive to this day

I’m told old adages of keeping dispassionate and faithful to voice as possible because

the self superaltern sinks in invisibility because the volume was white and columnarly violent

like a Stylites pouring hot oil to those lacking vantage and i’m without spectral French knits of any century outside of my life

and it’s repeated unwounding wordings like red yellow green

I can’t do this without fedback

carnage for palette and any painterly

flex are for happier

shadow eras.