Saturday, July 7, 2012


saved some side-expanse
handstanding the worst-smelling

floor to ceiling foulspace;
or something to that effect

occurring in water,
every little fish in the slipstream
of its swimblade
would be desert-rolled

the fart can misguide a musical instrument:
you strum where once were the neat indentations of
gills, now sealed up

my own sentience isn't that much different in
comparison – sentenced to the drudgery of
un-wobbling a cow-eyeball seasick on the movements of its
blue Gollum-boned rag doll fuck-smurf hybrid host,
once every hour, with its foot pump

the latter gross for tending to
code tiny revelations into spider veins
but fucked
if I can help it

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