Page 102 - Iterations:Other/Is

all dig trenches
the tie around my throat is an investigation monument to be left eternally in the closet behind the closet
The machine of thunder makes endless noises in the violet blue light which is like red and there is chlorophyll being manufactured in the corner of no vision in our thinking in thunder or there is but it is valium in ribbons of teeth or all of the papers wrote under the moon and the sun is now a velvet carpet we lie nude upon a prequel to bone and the paranoia of odor.
We talk of substitution, our hands move through silt & cut obscure trenches. drags. Before overlaps all context in formation of pearl; the cancer within made beautiful as specter in an empire of empty ideas begins to vanish. Blind in salt, a word moves through lacerations minuscule. It is sight withdrawn taken in an archaeology; that we have becomes, gathers.
I cut lemon to remember. Thyme to take me home
to the drink, before I become a danger to myself. Or wind, cups of wampum to pour little
broken things in spirals.
not falling into ocean=how do I not yet seen it