mmdccxxxviii

One Night Stands
                                    (Achizm #2)

Transformations
can occur (to
the transformed;
to the spectator
of the transformation)
as immediate, an immersion
into inversion, yin becoming
yang; yang, yin. The cockroach
lies flat, content, as it (mostly)
covers the nuclear reactor. The
nuclear reactor sits silently in the
distance, chugging, as if making a
joke of its very own silence, of the
cockroach atop it, here, in the middle
of a state that lies somewhere in the
middle of a country. All passersby
pull their automobiles over just
to spectate; to participate. It is,
as always, a beautiful day. Each
of us are part of the beauty, and
so we whisper: “Gorgeous!”  “Ama-
zing!”  “What a spectacular day!”

mmdccxxxvi

Silly,

all,
were
it not
for a
bit of
resil
ience.
. . . .
If this
isn’t re
silience
I’ll never
know
what
silly
is.

mmdccxxxv

     Do other people
     not know where they think
     they are when they do?
                       —Sue Landers

The ear thing today is
nice guys finish last. In
this fantasy (the paper-
work within paperwork),
my being does not live
me. Yep, here I don't be
me (a recommendation I'd
reckon). I don't live.
But yet, the opposite,
which expands beyond
the opposite, does not
become the infinite, so,
therefore, does not ache.
Like existence; like expansion.
Hollywood demand: expend $$
for new transformer. This could
be the one with which you blew
up the transformer in the last
episode (the prequel?),
with which you blew up the
transformer personified. How
could you?!, I implied! At 14
years of age. In 2008 or 9.
Room number 217 or 217
and a half. RUN LIKE HELL
out of Miami. Who does
that? Come to think of it
who runs like hell out of
Miami? Maybe you were
simply running (maybe
still are) from Sears &
Roebucks to Miami. An
utter conclusion. I think.
In this fantasy exists a
couple of pieces of
paperwork about
ivory. And how I
chipped a couple of
teeth saber-rattling.

mmdccxxxiv

Why Am I Always Saving Myself?

Hello from here.
How is there?

mmdccxxxiii

     We are mirrors holding up the sky. You are watching,
     you are holding me.
     Inside is a wolf running across the ice.
                                                            —Cassie Lewis

Ha, nah, brawn ka?
He looks at it. He thinks
about it. But he cannot

say it. Ice age rivulets.
Torpedoes dun as burghers
aim for the rhapsody of

dust above the plains
above the docks above
the ice caps amid

screaming rockers. Arch-
nemeses. Amanuenses. A
man you insist you trust-

ed in terms of agelessness
makes meatballs potatoes (the
cow having already been fatted).