ecstatic in static

Curanga Pie Blues

I was conceived in the cold heat
Of the late stage Anthropocene.

My mother’s milk was curanga pie.

I am a born again pleonasm—
Aphasic—ecstatic in static,
Mendicant in white noise.

I am obscenely petulant,
Vaguely touched,
Piqued & hot
With fleas.

Endless
Not.

What I’m Reading:

“Hers is the kind of presence that registers as an absence.”

— Tess Gunty / The Rabbit Hutch

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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