Side B

[B1] 00:00

i wake up to a scream i am not sleeping
i am the sculptor of absolute discontent surrounded by
mountain ants not yet can i recall this side of the
mountain i was adding plugs of grass when this side
sluggishly crept up from behind me
it was an ideal half of a mountain that i was sculpting
and while I was adding stitches changing stitches
the sun too passionate opens a hole in the hill
runny green fields draining past the ankles of sheep
that was un-rendered virtual area a sink
for the runoff data the melted half-image sneaking to it
for instance these ants are much larger
than i had conceived them to be and their exoskeletons
much thicker no doubt to insulate against the heat that is
hugging the land to slushy bits and then i see it
this time not from behind me but ahead to where the
mountain's contour becomes a corner the words i was
speaking only days ago like sugar in the pan left there
past the point where it is brown and sticky and sweet
past the point where it is smoking
right about where it is tar about to scream

we call it world building
it is what we are fit for
i was born in an already made world
ready to make my own
each day my sensory reference
echo-locate a new topographical arrangement
of course documentation is false
so i keep small notes that can be
thrown away the next day
it goes on like this
observing urgent phenomenon
unloading the load of observation
draw line, a string!
a tone !
in a phone booth with wooden
corners a street-metal beat plays

[B2] 04:32

we're just younger versions
it's so bad to stay as plans
high waste
grown up
campaigning to burn it down
the whistling catacombs
on the Mesmer strip
higher register sliding
four point drive
in a circle
my spy-phone loots my morning tongue
needing a glass on the hour
until
night's shining shoulder
curves back like glass
my ever loving never living God
in inflatable tennis shoes
what a waste of mind powers

irritating telekinesis

B3 [5:39]

he's giving me the thumbs up and smiling while pumping
the gesture damn (so i keep going) 5 minutes into
it and i'm liking it again your wordless encouragement
the water I drink will osmosis through my body and
not leak out at piss its acetone in my breath
not cold air the sawdust has melted from the
change in temperature what I breathe is cold
through my nostrils now my mouth is shut i can
catch up to anything in the cold i wait for it
everything else is taken by it i catch up and outrun
things and my perception never dulls the hair on my
limbs grows thick a puny beast on a distant planet
using knowledge from the previous planet to its advantage

i grew folds in my skin around the edges i used the
most i had hoped for a horrible roar
for each small
accomplishment a nail driven in evolutionary history
deeds of love indeed it does decorate grooves in a
banister its very beauty commemorates the many
differing seeds who feed on each other

more mercantile sadness shakes our harbour it spices
out drink poorly Baal's monster is logging to craft a
ship to attempt to see a bell-star not without a crutch
it knows that its cringing breath can push the ship
its a good method while i breathe it moves and if
if i no longer breathe it is probably of no consequence
but a bell-star can take your breath away while still living
(in which case i would be stranded then dead as
opposed to being immediately dead then stranded)
if i borrowed Maya's bulky shades i could even be near to it
like a millionaire congress buying up ancient earths taking
appreciation surveys i leave tonight with covered eyes

and when i thought of my abilities i saw glowing
outlines of paragons of my selves each one accessible
and addable thinking about it more i see a math
its like calling audibles on math rewriting the plays
of thrown numbers passes in a hallway pastures in
my minds cave

i follow them down but i am already there
they fall to meet me in my cave of pasture
and loose leaf
the beauty to me meeting people at different points
in life and death subscribing and being
subscribed to further along
the hot wheels whining to cling to your shirt's carpet
and hurl you

there is no more plane i've left the pasture
my minds cave flooded with the lake and felt
its cars under water race with heavy lead
so i stopped writing notes on my body
and put them here
where it is more easily destroyable

B4 [12:20]

cormorant is a bird
i am a bird in a corridor
the door deflates blue and sloppy i had to stretch
it out with all four winged limbs to just tumble through
on the other side i do not even think about reopening the door
to go back i suppose tumbling- never mind
hallway gives way to room big and square tiles coming
halfway up the halls all the way around
i can smell and then see the steel drum of lo sodium
rhinestone i am easily taken in by its steamed potatoes and
leaves
the strawberry texture of the tomato soup i will save for
later (this later being earlier than most laters)
but where is the chef? my soup is still warm is it not?
i will be forced to pay later and withdraw
at least by stealing this soup i have prepared myself for the
consequences of stealing

forget to take photos

B5 [13:47]

enough description and i am there i stop
wishing to be there after stretching up my
eyeballs even rearranging the order of things
i am not newly arrived
laying down i acknowledge i am late to leave
i acknowledge too that i cannot be more or
less late so i relax

i'm in a hospital cafeteria slouching deeply
in a plastic chair i had gotten up from the
row of chairs i was laying across
the poem being read implied that we were in
a hospital so i was thankfully able to implant
myself at its domestic way point

before i Exit i would have a meal and
a bath would have done well if i hadn't
remembered this place so smelling in that way
that is hard and easy to describe if you've
been to a hospital

i stopped listening to the poem but got stuck
here
i tried to treat it like a normal good day
for the sake of
for the sake of this bridge being built by
a crying woman

i could see my mother i am here
i know you care so much that i eat and i
know that you care that i bathe but not as
much it is a joke for us