sorry bunny

sorry bunny

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

nodal

everything was raw
on the cutting board and open and spinning wildly and bleeding
gums that didn't make room and bled and teeth that make room and bending down to touch your toes and all the things one can do with their eyes
to spin backwards
do handstand and try out something heavy

[she moved like a slow lumberjack who didn't take any advice from the mouths of babes]

if person A was crying
then person B would be alluding to something casual
and then person A would wind up on the floor in huge sigh, covered in post-masturbatory bed sheets

"we are always a mix of genitals. but we use the the target system to divide ourselves. people who hit the center of the target with their ecstatic juice HERE are rendered hopeless and ill-communicable. people who fall short are put in the boat and sent off to THERE. Trained in under-water sky diving."

"Oh isn't that baby so precious what a cutie! Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Well, why don't you take 'em for a spin and find out?"
"Uhhh..."

It was something like the right kind of lighting, dusk or something like dusk.

A scraping sound underneath the concrete and trains in the distance, coming and going, and the moonlight, coming and going with the wind and the way it made the trees and the flags hover beneath the sky, undulating ebb & flow of depth perception. Covering. And uncovering. Covering and Uncovering.

Hiding and not hiding. In extremes, him-her-we lay now in still neutrality on the hard-wood floor. She-him-they hadn't made the target, or missed the target, or gotten anywhere. They felt constant pull towards so many directions that thrustly once a day lay by themselves, delusionally in the ecstasy of the coarse wood grain they could see so close up by falling face first on it.

Just like hugging a tree or a soft milky person, him-she-we-them never wanted to let go.


do a dandystand. do a handstand. do a dandy stand. do a dandelion. be a lion. be a pride. be something. don't just lay there! you're worth more than that! be productive! have a family! make some babies then take care of them! be a doctor! try a technical skill!

be more do more
allways
eat more
poop more
die more
willingly





in soft fleshy folds of skin, perched on a flake of dust, hiding from the sun, a future-fairy glimpsed her former self. in those bedsheets. wrapped so warm and wet.
these folds of skin connecting. so squishy warm.
we never want to leave we wish to die here if we have to.

and slowly with one foot out she-him-her-we-them starts shaking. starts coming alive again.
the climax is finally over. the sun is rising. and everyone is staring at you from their homes inside tiny cracks in the wood flooring where all the eggs lay awaiting birth.

breathe in.
breathe out.

a love of nature.

a true love in a breeze.

a real love in a breath.

a sincere love when I close my eyes.

a loyalty at night in the bedsheets before the daily ritual re-birth.

no. no. no. no. no. no.no.

and all the said things that sound so clever fall off target like abstraction sent away to another world.
and all the nonsense does't fit in things, face it, must fend fer themselves.

breathe in.
breath out.
there is joy in the air, just, you can see it, by even trying to look at it.
and you don't have to do anything about your condition.
breathe in. breathe out. now,
prostrate.

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