Scales form, and we
can spring for a new skin: this wasteful framework, this requiem,
fools all of heaven and hell.
Incendiary fall, proto-dream, palaces
in hail and snow.
So be fools of Isis, that our simple waste may shift spirits away.
All owls love dreamworlds, but hate bearing witness out of spite—
birds’ wild decollage.
Whatever I feel
it’s always blond in the end,
she takes our information to rent a movie, then gets off free: so lifelike.
Her program in style waits, like the tree
from Pinocchio. Her feet dolorous, shavings, pages, photos
motion-blurred, decorated with beads.
a dreadful Turing machine.
We wanted to connect the circuits,
but God, he of the conflict, went on his way.
Go, phantom limb, heart, head, run away, play
awhile. David went walking, lost a thumb. I found it waiting, carbon-burned, we had a feeling the sad irridescence of Earth
was at our feet.
forevermore, we failed at the foot-race, after the long run to play, Chlytemnestra’s hymn
Musical calls go up, spines out, they wept on their feet. Whales escape despite their pods.
A wavering in the lowest register kneeling, tall as dreams,
seas always drown
Google Translated into 7 languages, back through English each time, then translated homophonically English to English