Thursday, March 1, 2012


To the folks at the asylum, not even slow grass
looks like an afterthought. Unless a large object
crushes it. Pixar is a dented dispenser, about to throw
up. The dent causes jet propulsion. Every movement
is sped up by a nanosecond. After each frame is a subliminal
blank. Mars leaving a smear right in the eye line. Banal like
the shoulders of the Kool-Aid Man. The roots of the grass
surrounding the asylum wriggle for increased access;
finding most anything accessible, thus cutting into lawn chairs,
legs, drilling through the filmy layer above the water
of the fish pond. A bolt embedded in wax fruit.
Cannot be undone, like a baptism. A future event
that will mark. The ape's ear piercing is from the future.
The one is stuck in the other. A same sex marriage
translating into a blessing's strange noise.
The magistrate's forehead with thoughts happening
behind it in his prefrontal cortex sounds like an elevator.
The Walkman suits the sandwich. Levels stealing
each other's reflections. Passing static from one
level to the next. Wax fruit is real, perfect fruit reincarnated.
Cannot be undone.

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