hanging my happiness on a boiled egg,

i stretch my trunk skyward, and ask you

the difference between a glass ceiling and a skylight.
from here, i can see all of the foodstuffs raining, the king

prawns, all the regalia, actually. britannia is editing

the wikipedia entry about shipping lanes… i called you my spice

island and you turned to jelly.         (finite desk)
                                                     i am hungry thru the

(y)ears; gran-fed, i hacked my arm up and hocked the remains

for a new beagle. 
let me come down and tell you how

i don’t think of you over here, or how this continence

makes the heart grow more absent. ———you know I never even

know what time it was? how nervous, no?

but I was watching the window always. [well,

who could tell, you had covered the house with those

realist portraits of our surrounding landscape, and mounted them

in window frames.] i would boil the cornflakes until they were

just done, and then scatter them around the plant bases//
//that was when we started filming. i liked to pretend to press

the record button, and think of how embarrassed i would be

to see the shelves: i could bear no relation: i was such a bore:

the wood started to deteriorate: that was when the ceiling came

down, and i was all pomp-and-ceremonei: with my belt on for

reasons of fashion: modalising, i said: modulating, changing

fora faster than you could tie a knot.