What I
think, usually, when looking at my filing cabinet,
is
feed the machine
the
near death state of its stored life
there
must be a trick to its continuing glaze
what's
it – milder rose hair?
there
are slits in stars
the
juice around my Betamax's crusting loops
of
their lifespans, I think
vibrating
with
mitochondrial circulation
draped
plankton scented
a
glitch in the toy deep down
your
mantis took years picking its way out of Walmart
but my
chicken had literally time traveled out of there...
its
butt's googly central eye
the
rest of its body plus the antenna misinterpreted as
looking
well-proportioned only on comic furniture
remember:
the traumatic negative placebo
hunter
raisins crawling up paper
this
is the war's new face passing beyond the beyond
housing
a sprocket's personality trait
breaking,
and with a gesture holding shut the speed of light
Tron's
biofuel hacked out of the old lady's backyard
one
dollop of it sparged
over
the heart
a
spring can slow you down
it
nests so frequently
No comments:
Post a Comment