revealing trash pits with which we’ve populated the non-mystical ocean
of non-combustible intention, improvidence, and renegotiation with what was
and what used to be. populace discarded in favor of more synthetic pleasures

yet another golden turkey. weighed down by gold, overqualified
and overfed, yet malnourished, scrawny, marred and quivery waiting
for the long run. waiting it out for a long-imagined trajectory of

various phenomena worth waiting for, various loose ends to unravel
at all these speeds: repeatedly anew. piles of time i might slip on
or slip into knots. a donkey farm populates the depopulated landscape with fuzz

in previously unforeseen proportions. collection, accrual, transinitiated
substances dried, packaged for export, anticipating a wakeful and unequal
exchange. wading in someone else’s junk or gem. a gingerly

deforested zone tapped or sapped, exhausting our resources so we
wake up in a field of brown puppies. can agree only on the puppies, and
can complain about it later. dissatisfactions are free, after all, while

all those commercials cost you a couple of fingers. choose the ones
you don’t need to conduct bicycles in your peripheral vision, tiny ones
least often used, grab a few bandages, and when the door flings open

stampede first, check you’re headed in the right direction later. so far
away from the initial impulse, that’s where the heat starts to falter. it’s
so good, you might have thought, puppies and all, despite the blazing red

bench that beckons from below your feet. it’s live, they say.
of course you have to find out for yourself. i have no money yet
i buy it all. bust open the shells as my mouth descends in

livid love with the orange stomach-paste just beneath. fibrous
and tenuous lines of thought stretch out along the empty parallel.
threads of musculature mask more militant organic masses

as the tendons mobilize once again for a greater haul.
the hallmark of an empty parallel is to be not actually empty.
force enacted upon a newly developed torque of land.