... by Natalie Terezi Rei Watts
floating things hang limp/id in the air
i excrete my first hand to reach through to their polygraphs
i turn the pages and the text coils into a halo around me
it speaks like nails, wire
some lousy hammering job that broke into splinters upon it
my day at work constitutes a single symbology of numbers that comes together to form a single intestinal tract.
it flops on the tiles and when I look at it i feel I haven't eaten in an aeon since there were the noises of construction work where feathers once were
eels are the oldest planetoids
i have a crick in my jaw, that always comes open to unfurl into holes
decompression of the water causes you to float in the lungs, bobbing up and down until a policeman spots you.
'll give you a certificate that sounds like limpid
elastic flexible i need food
munch munch munch
starving neon lights need cereal to make up for their diet.
they go to an endocrinologist where they are prescribed a supply of batteries and 10-ounce fiberglass bullet points.
these are useful when it comes to recompulsively itching the floorboards.
I find i and i and i and I again.
These polygraphs are useless.
don't even tell me how many colors I am.
There are eels down here.
They are my friends.