Wednesday, January 7, 2009
SPUTTERINGS
Has my tongue been registered
in the coming convergence?
Has its’ oscillations been properly
adjusted for? I keep hearing you
named in the wind, off in the distance,
howling like we were born to do.
I keep wanting to parse one second
from the next, stripping you down
to the barest signal, that teletype
between breaths, that lip
of a grin just abandoned,
that structure I wrote off
as unsound…
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CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
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