We Looked Like A Parade Barely Moving

I Like To Think (it Has To Be!) Of A Cybernetic Ecology Where We Are Free Of Our Labors And Joined Back To Nature, Returned To Our Mammal Brothers And Sisters, And All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace.

All Girls Should Have A Poem Written For Them Even If We Have To Turn This Goddamn World Upside Down To Do It.

Burn All The Maps To Your Body. I'm Not Here Of My Own Choosing.

Im Haunted A Little This Evening By Feelings That Have No Vocabulary And Events That Should Be Explained In Dimensions Of Lint Rather Than Words. Ive Been Examining Half-scraps Of My Childhood. They Are Pieces Of Distant Life That Have No Form Or Meaning. They Are Things That Just Happened Like Lint.

Because You Always Have A Clock Strapped To Your Body, It's Natural That I Should Think Of You As The Correct Time: With Your Long Blonde Hair At 8:03, And Your Pulse-lightning Breasts At 11:17, And Your Rose-meow Smile At 5:30, I Know I'm Right.