modular arterial cacophony
We, origin of. Or sinkhole upending its own excrescences. Need, needs, ability, abilities. Why constantly set backslashes. As if, despite the logjam there's a not-so-secret desire to vandalize our own cars. Look to NASDQ futures. Look to who is wearing shoes. Look to Newspaper Cutup Game. Look to your prize-winning stillness. We repeat the jumping things.
Enervate one, then we to us equals one. To danger danger. How did the song. We, birds replaced by sepulchers, use “man” as a verb. Posthuman your refrain. Metal melts at. Megadeath. Is it possible for just middle finger to elbow, left, to sass us into. Taking up robotics. No, bionics sans –tech. Don't bleach the black on white on white on black even the pop ups are recovery projects for. The well, educated. Among, us is a cute shortHAND for crowd control. Imagine: books of all sorts lining your drive, way beyond capacity. The Trocodero. Or some such. All long-haired titles get there, start in a dark room off a quickie street. So prehuman, you.
Is is a translation of ash into thank you for carrying me to Starbucks, what will you order and will the change presuming no gift card land in pocket or plastic brown child charity box. Don't Wednesday us. Of the vast materials, some are fucking, some Hindi. We, invention of recent date. So said, how did the. An inadvertent. Drawn mustache. Out of fashion. A smear made by the mouth kissing the knuckle. Marked by temporal encoding: there is information in. Information. For your. And the white starch noose. It's singed to day. Or. To spread us as far as your grandmother is now a continuous strip of. Ceremony. We, the hallas on your windshield. Take us off your nose and rub our noses against the glass the pane with delicate thumb and. Other fingers. What orgy. Whose.
We, corpuscle. A preheated JJ Thompson affair. Infected toe in the reading process. In the cause. In the cut potential. In the arterial sack heave. We, bodies to be read and fucked, the counterpoise music of the unacknowledged redundancy. Ash to be breathed on, resuscitation of. Marked in the act of spreading us on us, plugging pore with pore. Filling hole with hole. We, prolapse constellation. The thin line of the laboring lung. The double helix, language lineage. This universe makes no claim on us, but the flicker of the mucus en masse night light cilia wet with fuel. We, organism that only the fires demand.
We, repeat the jumping things. We, Baudelairian avalanche. Won't you fall me away in your gathering? The individual is a puzzle-picture. Exchange of equivalents. When they. When we when they. Pushed Algeria Off itself. Hundred fifty fell, cliff hanger a hangnail to the quick. No. Immeasurable duration. We, the apartness of. We, wave, laments its breakage in the momentary, or push. We, wave as tumbles into the wave of the salt seeing. We, makes the noises particle collider. I. That sound. And. Me. Of the breaking wave. Of plumb pudding atoms frozen out. Of atoms collecting in the bronchial tubes for the first class. For the upper and out first. For the mailing. Of the cell, of the burning method, of the moments drowned by fire. Then ash, the single evidence of us, leftovers.
1. “Arms Akimbo, Scolding Plekhanovian,” Rodrigo Toscano
2. “So Sang the Hierarchies,” Erica Kaufman
Author Discusses Poems