1.)
Moving through the volume of flutes,
a column of location, pure differential,
spotted all over. They say these moles
on the nights' skin are stars, or
hidden by sausage-casing clouds;
diffident or diffuse, unaminous in density,
each point on a web does not equal each point
except in our heads. Now a steel dusk or its
negation slides over us. We won't be stirred,
a tome of tone-deaf matrices tamps down
the dawn, securing over our heads the motion
they make from religion, its diligent core:
leave me here, darling, I can't go on, I
always go on about, the particulars collapsed
into one fibrous obstruction, and then
they petal our heads with children's mouths.
Every workstation on the network
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http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
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Type: discussion
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3.)
The girls wind as rigorous as they are sour.
Soothing myself at intervals with medications
illicit, just a trunk with balloon head
is dear enough. Fluffy girls. Reading Ashbery
in the long no-ceiling hallway of smoking outside
Satterfield hall, just a truck with a balance
of labial apologies lopped off at slough
deaf. I'm dear, waiting for your eyes to join me.
A skip over geography with soft fossils of warm
swerve, and then I'm home again. In a chatroom,
(I've never been here before), luckier children
with mouths the shape of catapault butter
ignore us repeatedly. Is it true that
the ocean moves in the winnows of hands with words?
Oh!
=====
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
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