EMILY

I'm nobody, rubbing hands over luscious pervasive
curves of air.
See my live webcam. I wait all day for the rubbery
thread you
started in lists to tremble; when it does, I swallow
the
vibrations. A string, plucked from lump sums of
products; I'm the
multiplicand, catty like a track record of spit and
oval
solution, all of which takes this shape to be its
lawfully webbed
wide-eyed WASP.

In the breakfast nook, coon-dogs bellow mixed
neighborhood
watch to time the replication of hourly role-playing
by a root of
node folders demented. With cement in my lungs,
circuitry pits
awe against doldrum jailing again and again; I can't
even begin
to express my surprise when I look out my window, with
so much
space slathered everywhere and everywhere at once when
I'm
looking. Where does it go when I turn away?

I'm nothing in particular, I said, though I knew
she was
sleeping. I'm empty and aching and I don't know why.
Still,
before the dinosaurs ftp their extinction to maximum
disk space
useage quantized to a bible, I'll be able to witness a
wryting
using AIML to format my responses. A corn-dog in the
civil rights
movement should behave quite in particulars, like
teeth sprayed
with lucid grammars of momentum vexed. And the string
glistens,
and the string moves too fast to see.

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Anningan (in progress) http://www.lewislacook.com/Anningan/AnningansDoor.html
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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