All rehoused
and accepted bodies
just above the cut
you see that power
is quiet and
makes perfect
oxygen, or in
dream or aged
in the rain
you eat
your dinners
half naked in
glass light,
it is your blood
rite the
simplest loop
to love
that gets inserted
is the whole
at tilt
the finished
broken negative
all densely
packed up
radiantly
at a loss
through the
historical
heart later
on you
see your
own sick
frozen into
stalagmites,
and all the excluded
semen hangs
in the endless ceiling
where sovereignty
comes out a
big mouth,
the sleep you
encrust in your
cuticles
this ideal
space that
you love
granite,
that angel
that angel
looks back
on
the non-work
catharsis in the
catharsis in the
death economy, or
the now-nearby
in red
wet asphalt
wet asphalt
ruined
as it beautifies
out all the
quiet zones
from the faces
on the job search
for a hope bigger than
a boxed in visage
gilded in
the permanent
panic, but
panic, but
what can
you do
you do
to the dog
machines eating
your carpet,
eating the place
you still live
in your cloud bin
this hate object
undenied the wretched
birdsong still
undenied the wretched
birdsong still
I live in a porous
welch it produces
sounds and people
speak to it on
my behalf, I
would like my
stolen money back
my behalf, I
would like my
stolen money back
