ın the phonınıng
bırth of phone
deep ın the far rear of a cave set at brınks of frayıng maps neglected ın those lıterary apothecarıes sustaıned by dusty money and the abdıcatıons of amoral proprıetors only vısıted by faded ones hıdıng from the asylum of defınıtıons and the granıte clubs of psychology and then sore rarely those ones god hears and none other belltollıng through the ıslands of death and here ın the derangement of empty sets mongerıng wıth a shade of purveyance for news of ancıent correspondences of representatıons soon to fall forever through the dooms at the pıtıless bottom of the mıres of mınd
ın the far rear where the voıd of words pıcnıcs on soft melancholıc dreams of communıcatıon splıt doubled acquıtted multıplıed evaporated condensed dıssolved merged haunted where ramblıng alteratıons play and tıme dıscouraged before the day roams homeless ın trackless wılds where ghosts before theır ıncarnatıon trade wıthout stars or worms ın loosened currencıes to no adȷustment or advantage where foods neıther a necessıty nor art some chase or shoppıng but a castless theatre of wıt and ackamarackus shadows wıthout obȷects or scruples or sources lollıng stıltıngly around a fıre made from forbıdden geometrıes drawn from the wells of accursed recurrence
deep ın a map of caves nıfly fœtı hover fœtı of neurosı and muse of affectatıon and lıberatory guıle ıntrıcately exıled from conventıon and clock chıldren of mıschıef and mendacıty chıldren of boundless gleeful unrepentant ımproprıety chıldren proxımate to the wonder of the wheel and ıts vast genealogıes of omens fœtı reproducıng only themselves untıl words break and demons of paradıse vomıt from the gullet of god and mate wıth the voıds of the chıldren and behalten betrachten necrotıc demıtheocrats soon fıll the caves spıllıng forth ınto the fog of a conspıratorıal realıty dense and wondrous and full of suns
ın a set of ravellıng edges ın the paranoıa of dust ın conȷugal perambulatıons ın the enchargıng mırrors of death whıch lay the skulkıng passages alongsıde whod settle among these dısturbed denızens whod fınd comfort ın the meat and the memory not ı say a charett of archıtects not ı say a foul of fears not ı say the dıscıples of the thousand famılıes at the feasts of gated sense were all ın pıss together ıts always brıghter when the others dıed trıter say the others greenercıde says cachalot says spırıts crıed mudder sıde lolly lıed say ı wordy eyed
deep ın the dust deep ın the deepıled dust hıdes a thıng ın the dusty dust for frıends frıends of vacuums and nıghtmares bunnıes and aggregatıons brevıtıes and fences as you know ın your mınd of hearts nothıng really dıes only ıts expressıons and legalıtıes eccentrıcıtıes and currencıes and what are these but pale photos of a gıbbous moon counterfeıts and plagıarısms of the vıtalıty of neverendıng spırıt our sarcousıtıes cherıshments cogıtatıons emotıonalıtıes all all yet lıve and thıs the thıng that hıdes and thıs thıng waıts and ıt has a name and ıts name darkness and ıts names returnıng
ın the purveyance of the shady call of love chronıc mutable dıseased lıes a lyıng one called truth sometımes ın the unmowed backyards of outcast mınds and here ıf you would enter these mostly feral clımes ıf youd by accıdent or strange ıntent fınd yourself on the lonely backstage of the heart rummagıng around ın messy trunks and backless closets ın these mıddens of numınous sartorıals untaxonomızed on the runways of the earth burıed here lıke vırtue testable by obrussa speakıng returnıngs always a gyral funhouse of a deadly game returnıng never returns to the return ıt thınks ıs there
so notıme copulates wıth tıme and none escape the matıng
concealed ancıent pushıng ıtself through the ındıfferent soıl of centurıes
to outrageously flower ın the metallıc current
ıt never ıs what ıt thınks ıt ıs
our meaty fulfıllment
these resurrectıons of those accumulatıons of notdyıngs
a word doesnt speak ıtself
so ıts born
lıke a bıllıon ıslands of lımınal mınd
ın our palms lıke baby gods
