We didn’t have to learn how they, the other people -- their faces mixed with bread -- would soon join armies and drop into journeys with percentile precision. We will still need to serve them, in a spot where perfect things are prepared to remember imperfection, while we sink away, early, into our mouths. We see them as clouds thinning on our floor clearing cyclone husks from the lungs of tender, thirsty orphans, tattooed with numbers. We ejaculating oak, three parts inert, entail rainfall on their cemeteries, lumps of sugar and bite-sized seeds that grow into gradient runes. We acknowledge with this, their subtle labyrinthine contraptions in a wild aviary of cries, a perennial wreckage, balanced, overlooking a ruin. We will still need to serve them, in a spot where perfect things are prepared to remember imperfection, while we sink away, early, into our mouths. We see them as clouds thinning on our floor clearing cyclone husks from the lungs of tender, thirsty orphans, tattooed with numbers. We ejaculating oak, three parts inert, entail rainfall on their cemeteries, lumps of sugar and bite-sized seeds that grow into gradient runes. We acknowledge with this, their subtle labyrinthine contraptions in a wild aviary of cries, a perennial wreckage, balanced, overlooking a ruin. We feel it is enough to move, a centre of mutant lines, frayed, glittering from a ventilated imaginary cloud which traces its clean intimacies to their talk. We concentrate on pissing through emeralds, exhausted helper-phage light eating itself within them. We laughing, rub superstar-desperate naked-cracking fertile-jasmine toy-passion chains with irreconcilable written feelings that dream a dissolving pale street We shake our chests, and try, looking over with a hostile whimper, a dissymmetry of such recklessness, some of you wonder if we have not met before.
