After a while, the nostrils of the hominid waiting
by the phone fall asleep. His tongue finds the
cognitive scroll wheel on his palate. Something
in him begins to find this pleasant.
The boogers suspended from the ceiling of
THIS planetarium hum. Waiting turns the hominid
into smog. Smog clippings or shavings flash around in
the smog. The mental disorder is funny because it's so long.
Like bile, or indeed heavy rain. The digits missing
behind these eyes pogo. The hologram excretes
5 minds. Following the fright I had on discovering
the outside world's depth, I heard, saw, and felt
only on the surface. THAT baby was me. I go
outside and frisk my garden. I don't stop until
all the plants have receded. People in built up areas
provide a more realistic image of themselves than
Tupac projecting through a towel.