ZIP CODES 4

4.)


Is not about place, but our touch of place, our
touching on it, as in "We vacationed in
the French Quarter." Baudrillard on the commune
circuit, grinning near-electrical; he's no more
home than I am, after so little sleep and so
much thought. I like a place where balconies
brim with flesh selfish in its abandonment,

oh,

I like it here, too. Where touch chokes shadow

with brilliant berries. They're not the rich

crimson of our children's poisoned dreams; to eat,
we bloody our lips with a savor of vaseline, swallow
low tides of muscles blunt with elected fogs. And
still we're no closer than two living in
the same living body is breaking on the windows,
while snipers squint their hate at us down scope.


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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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