1:05:05 I rose from the high-chair with the paper from grandmother's orange grove in my hand. My bride! (Just look at her, at her fingers which have engulfed so many men, and guided them in between her lips.) She matches all my senses, I declared in...
The trailing breath of the night moved these dizzy paragraphs, word by word, from several combined consciousnesses. Holding my pee and drooling over times and places, entangled to each other in a mishmash of extremities. I twisted in bed, knowing that I ought to release the pressure, but I was hesitant to let go of the sheet's tangible patterns of dreamt dreams, the smell of erect longing, of mildew in the seams of the decaying breaths that made me confuse my sensitivity for mosquitoes, with the hoarse voices of a flock of swans, torn between my ability to love and the collateral value of the baking recipes you left behind.
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1:00:01
I am in the mould, soil and clay wiggling between the roots, giving way to rocks and feed on compost. I'm brave, keep faith and follow traces of rainfall like a map drawn by water from melted snow as it trickles over my tummy. Light shines from your heart of hearts, while I channel in, fighting my way over mountains where not even moss or ice can protect me from the wolfclouds claw or the moon, pulsing barely a few miles above the inner surface of this toroid world. "No, don't look at it, don't think about it. Be courageous. Stay in trust, stay available. We are with you."
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1:00:02
You rose from the breakfast buffet, went out on deck to seduce the bleak light that shook the window handles hair, as your multifaceted gaze was taken by the wind and rode on a gust from Freezonia City bay, seeped into my container, modulated on swan lake's initial sea-bird harmonies; half-tone up, then a semitone, cautious while mom slowed down, picking invisible flowers outside the gates of my old school. "Much is forgotten, about whom you really are."
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