shrunken coffee

Such a blizzard of verbiage leaves its silt on the
coffee.
Lean over to blow it cold with a soft spot of pain
cradled in your head, and you'll see I'm right (as
always),

though slightly smaller. Should I cut my hair
short this weekend, or leave it to grow hormone thumbs
and infect the lexicon with starving? Frost spun
like silk soot from spiders' throngs pushed
prisms to my eyes, and you too grope radiant

spools in the dark of carpal lackluster awe, tummy
buttered with gerund deflection, like spitting
pits of periods into your words to call it code.
This will make you famous among everyone who could
possibly know you, at least those with no linguistics;

in case of fire, break axe over neck. I'm going bald
anyway; soon, having lost to snowballs and ascii,
I'll ask you to place your ever-widening thumb

over that shrink of breathing my head makes
next to yours; I'll ask you to push, push hard, until
the coffee comes out. We'll find a word for it yet.


=====

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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