dreamed i might get healed in some sinuous river and think
----------------------- SERIOUS THOUGHTS ----------------------
listen up, fuckers of the past: everyone stays at home now.
ever since billowy darkness descendt quietly on our towns and
gardens, ever since two new internet inventions (talks and
listens) made hell on the marketplace, we talk and listen
through little headphones, mounted nicely, nicely on little
earstalks, and your doctor, your helicopter, makes whispers in
you at times of your choice, takes transit tacks like
--------- "i think you should see more empty corners" ---------
but a good empty corner comes by hard at a time like this,
because after all, all these things are filling up on /residue/
(can't take out the trash, can't leave the house when it's dark
outside when it's everyday everyday dark outside, and you can
open the window but that's another story when the windows are
always always eyes to the soul, not a pretty soul indeed---)
so a doctor's hard-won countenance goes by the wayside and you
look more and more often at corners filled with things precious
or otherwise, like heads and jewels and moms dads cats and sons
----------------- "oh molly, been too long" -------------------
dreamed i might get caught in some odious river and if lucky or
worse, forget how to hurt on pen and paper, and then i'd have
to hurt aloud, in little tiny headphones on smaller earstalks
to folks oceans off, who may as well have been pens and paper
after all, until at last the transantlantic cable ties itself
in guilty knots and self-cuts-off, leaving me only with bitter
close notes, but by which time each neighbor even seems oh, oh
miles away, and oh molly, your things won't last in these
corners, buried as they be neath other skeletons (of hard and
software and empty cans, many many skin cells), and by the
time i hear your voice my only left cruelties leap light and
hollow and lost on other nobodies a thousand times before