where you going

Trickle & Tone

She said, I long to shape
a moon from bone.

I heard that before,
somewhere—
it resonated. A chord
struck—atonal
& dissonant.

A wound—a pickaxe stymie,
a hurricane hole
in homogeneity.
Monosyllabic
trickle & tone.

Where
you going—where
you been?

I’ll find a planetarium
to bathe in—
nothing more
to say.

What I’m Reading:

“How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.”

— Ai / “Conversation”

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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