Automatic 39

I  have not been here as I have been busy elsewhere measuring the space between things.

Things being defined by objects lacking in precision.  Also:

when gathering an army be sure to bring enough Zeppelins.

Your inclusion is never necessary things will sputter on without you fairly well.

I want to comb your nothingness with my tongue. unhinge your diabolical jaw

and singe me with a song…

Sing along with me:

O’ city of broken wheelchairs!

O’ city of pistons gone awry!

must we wander your house of ill-repute, must we gather ye torches while we may?

It’s such a challenge to remain contagious.  all that time spent counting the pustules, all the money wasted on cremes.

speaking of wandering:

I’ll never go that far again.

What’s this ache doing in the middle of this meadow?

later on:

I will paint your symbol on the bottoms of my feet.

I’ll write your name in the blooming of my skin.

I’ll unhinge your catastrophe.

I’ll put your name in my throat like an egg.

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