... 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


:


i a

m s

in

ki

ng

to

wa

rd

s t

he

bo

tt

om

of

th

e o

ce

an

an

d t

he

ee

ls

ar

e t

he

re

an

d I

ha

ve

ma

ny

ha

nd

s


:.


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.


:;.


☞☉?↑x♄⏎∞⏏⛼?↓x♄⏎∞⛌⏦⎇⚮


:;:


There are eels down here.

They are my friends.