i don't understand the sentimental value of these arrangements,
we are foreign even to each other,
although i try to fit into your skin
suffocatingly synthetic slimy heavy and
tadpoles blasting out of my throat,
as far apart as planets can be
and you are not the world but a world and even then
black hole of a raindrop
as we all are when/(unless) we begin; i am making sounds
ending this on a flat d-drone; you see how hard it is for me
to understand mechanics; adream in
uncircumcised unsubsidized great gracefulness
of slow time. tongues roll like rippling white flags,
the cross-section of a mountain leads one to a uterus,
we climb up a little too late
and reach a sad handful of firebird sediment.
when and how it will be reassembled
and has it already been while signals are nullified;
and the violent spams of unbirth pass through us too
like radiation or harmless waves
but that is the atmosphere we're marinating in. that is the law.
but you want nail clippings and tallies on trophy skins.
but try fighting for once.
it feels good and it's good for the soul, they say.