23 March 2025
of course when i think of it
foldability
object: myself
hyperobject: myself
narrative subject: me me me me
phew, now for the sour grape (i have never eaten one): contentious flirtatious spectre
mirror screened multifarious me
(non sequitur as banana lounge)
secret: i much prefer: you
but you ’re not an objet
d’art not a suitable
subject for a specious desertion book fart
not a much substacked x’d you ’re
neither there nor here your
mouth wide open for such things
as grapes small and large sounds kisses
drinks
and a lifetime of eating earth out of home
between the quietness of crowds
and calm interventions
i wish the abundance of super elites would deflate and
the precarious immiserated intracranial
book group would finally surrender to nagging
and you could get on with your life
as a subset of me you me you me you
whoever
and the earth could return
to its non-obvious destiny
of releasing us scot free for a while