Monday, August 19, 2013


By thought or metal
unshackled, I call to you now.
The technology of my final body
is climbing the wall of the world.
Nameless planet, vessel for so many
toiling conflicting dreams, done fucking,
finished eating, still singing.
Beams melted to fit
through the last two passageways
of eye-socket, louder than
the chronological orchestras
savagely congealed.  Liquid stepsister
to the excremental family,
the human branch: let's
break into twins each
on the flaming ropeladder.
Kin to a waterfall of
failed brains, vaporous spirits,
viscous reproductions,
lean into the cloud-current
and destroy all its patterns,
its analogue, its heatseeker,
its military and its cruel
and uncertain marriages.

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