Tiger Lilly Listens to the Bombs

Jun 05, 2005 21:41



Laying on my bed, I think I am implanted with steel receiving wires

at various times present in my thigh

or head or back, sometimes I hear a voice

in the inner arch of my hand:

I lick it and get the faint electric tingling

as smooth as vibrations, feeling so pleasant

and uncomplainable, like a measure

of its incredible shape

Pieces of the body float in space

metaphors for disjointed voicedness

I am 'the hand'; you are 'the miracle'; we win

'the dispute'

and whistle-led I hear you

thorugh the aching of my ears

no more
real

no more
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