| Alexander the Great | [Apr. 23rd, 2011|02:14 am] |
| 1 I'm working on it says the robot self to the self. The self is untrusting, but will not speak up--the robot self has many lights flashing, and looks as if it does something very important. My goodness, every pulpy human convention cannot be a big enough tool box. 2 What if we are already dead? Acting, shadow puppets to some more real world? I know enough to know a gossamer sense of soul. A sound wave is not the same as the shivering bell. 3 The latent world: when falling, the moment it feels like flight. 4 To those who already eat the dead: this knot in you is Gordian. No swords as sharp as those you have in the human ability to restrain your self. 5 I am boxed. Quiet sorrow, look for your dead in the water shadow, that earth and sound you know is there inside your skin. your epidermal fear. A car rolls by your home in the stick of night, sliding by like a wet turtle back, slick flower petal riding down the street stream pulsing a bass, a giant passing impossible heart; It is his heart. You grieve. You cannot help but grieve. 6 See that? Saturn has taken a liking, and floats, like a boxer, around your heart. He is as earnest as Orpheus; That life in you was once his lover, imagine that. Will you give you back? 7 a poultice: god's own beak broke down my lover. she upset his belly. Now she comes back. 8 But am I ready? |
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