Animals at the bar with language. They
don’t understand the dance she’s doing. Biting
the heels of her silhouette as dark parts of the chemical
flood her lobe. (Gas stink, death in trenches, hooves, lead
poisoning).
Butane on the bulb, membrane faces walk
her to the lab. Searching on the floor for the initiative,
discarded by millions. All the bags are empty. All the pipes
broken.
Tonight she sleeps with her treasures, the
last day around her neck. Therefore tomorrow as a solution
is an illusion.
(Using the system against itself is a simple
a misspelling your name on official forms). |
