Bring them to me from the highlands. Put it in your mouth.
I want to feel the spaces in them, the vision,
phone, infrasound. I can't do it myself.
reach the ceilings available to you, see:
I'm loitering with hedonism, head involuntary
falls into the atherosclery and is pressed with a dent
a tank where the mundane flows.
feed me shredded. It happened again.
molecular fluctuations, levels at random- hit
they're stuck to the verticals, mountains not where they request to be.
They're pressed against the pits, and you see what comes out:
I woke up at the North Pole,
in Włodaw, the capital of Canada,
the largest African country,
I've got books for my hands, and I've grown up to my throat.
pig. Moves, lives inside me, kicks.
Trumpoid cyborg regiments, grating
wire starters, pulling under Smolensk,
The arches reflect in the blackberries of Volodya,
Demonstrators are killed by sonic weapons,
And I'm trying to put this thing in my head.
hypergalimatias. help, though everything is notorious
Disintegrate, constantly coughing.
feed me a clearer view,
change your perception of reality.
Look, if each of us were a painting,
You'd be called Fae in front of a crystal mirror.
and was Vermeer's brush,
of me would be: Dysma Bończa-Tomaszewski
masturbating paraffinic beak casting
silent swan (author unknown, acrylic on canvas).
Take off any clouds, please.
For so far; evenings in the blood,
glass crumbs in the stomach.
