And in my sadness I heard water
flow through every object in the room.
And in the water I heard a great distance
carefully annihilate its travelers,
and carefully, almost lovingly,
drop a tiny flame in the mouth of an infant.
Water, you have made my room flexible.
For every drowning victim,
one single fish is pulled into the air.
There are no ideas in death, just pain. It even hurts to take off my pants.
Ideas and I are at cross-purposes, like the limbs of Christ.
I have an idea and a friend. My friend has an idea, and is an idea.
I dive into my friend daily, deeper each time, blasting my face on the rocks.
"Uses of Instinct:" I sleep, and gain weight slowly through the night.
I don't know what an entity is, so I don't trust entities. Entities are assholes.
My friend has evolved an extra hair for each of her ideas to live in.
I've just read the story of Mikhail Khodorkovsky. May it give me courage!
I see x, and I smear it on my face. Only, it isn't x—it's something else.
The ideas huddled together and slept. When they woke up, they were fat.
This is my lucky idea. Whenever I think about it, I think about luck.
Luck is a combination of two things: luck and skill.
Nobody wants to have second thoughts. But then again…
X is the most skillful of the letters, but not the luckiest.
Steam rose from my wounds like a rose.
I moved out here to poison my body. My wet friend and I stand at night. We stand in a circle, the shape most connected with magic power. Happiness wisps overhead, just out of reach, all the colors of the graynbow. Inside my mom, a finger is growing.↑
Some people think it's beautiful,
the mysterious glow in the night sky
of astronaut urine. Up the hill,
in the research hospital,
they pull out a monkey's heart
and blow on it to keep it cool.
October is a latent wish:
the dead women are pregnant,
the pregnancies are planned.
You can forgive the one
who makes your life amazing.