Wednesday, February 24, 2010

begging the question

there is no use to thinking about anything.
i want to stomp a canadian goose on its neck
and eat it. their shit is everywhere,
mottling the speckled departing snow.
drink some coffee black and heave until you
almost throw up. steal a book about
the presocratics, or at least think about it.
once i have something i dont want it
anymore. become slightly more robotic.

i want to see in molecular time.
all things are valid, always. bring me a cake,
mammoth and mint, mostly keratin. sharpen
your tact and watch the texts roll in,
intact like avian toe prints,
diffuse like pebbles or pixels.
you can rely on me asshole.

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