Wednesday, 1 April 2009

We All Fell About - Alex Davies

You cannot choose to speak.
Membrances scatter, spaces which, when gotten past clatter:
are you on/in/as/is I?
'You could potentially trace'
the cut-of-you jib, oxygenate blood, I ruinate.
Enigmatic sense-impacts
massive point, disseminate diparaging remarks,
eyes act mist responsible,
slanderous disinformation thru out-of-text misquoting:
"it would be back-patting",
'If only you just wouldn't clap so hard',
the tolerated can describe,
torn two-ways once, missing.
'You crazy fool! All you'll find here is death, & pidgin english,' in this room,
and what does I become
in the presences of you?

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