babel label land of language
we make the land to break it later cut up between flags and maps drifts of language points of thought caught in the net of where and the confusion of what and the mystery of why translations can come to late for…
Tag: skull cull
croque monsieur
eating magazines a diet of books a tv altar, a radio confession box i’ll be a crane the bird or the mechanical lifting machine and they are the same walking through a meadow walking through the street stood on a conveyor belt…
the pass of electricity
con re de fused all the wires double-tapped dreaming surge protector lightning conductor rain collector hand on the fence the sheep inside the person touching me the pass of electricity i haven’t always been grounded
scarecrow alight
my heart is peeling, cracking you’ve taken a penknife to the backing i don’t think everyone is tracking that i am a scarecrow on fire i have been a professional liar selling smoke and mirrors wondering can the angels hear us haunting…
the steam of
we’re frayed, clutching at our own threads things rattling round in loosely connected heads memory foams on the beds like the steam of dreams is puffing up the sense of self taking things down off the shelf that should have been forgotten…
with no hold music
the customer thinks they deserve this you daily observe this in the sphere of customer service the customer is periodically right they won’t go down without a fight operating from a great height high above your heads the karens fly your manager…
farming masks
not giving a shit isn’t a valid option there is no checkbox for it no one has a section of their graph for it they are feeding into the illusion of choice not acknowledging the total eclipse venn diagram it’s tiring playing…
Space Poet
He was the first poet in space. He had to train for the mission as hard as any of the astronauts, and they had told him what kind of thing that they wanted him to write. He wondered if they had noticed…
my and is played
somewhere all decisions made my hand is played and i retire from the game drop the mask, take a new name and nothing is the same except it all repeats until each cycle completes and that part closes out and into action…
from the lungs of the anti-beige
you aren’t going to be a lampstand or a party balloon, popped or otherwise for the whole of your life you are a weather system and we’re drinking rain and baking in sun as much as we’re inside hiding from it you…