#9

Iam gone fishing with the advent of biopower, the scorched etctera: another sip on a billion Vietnams for genitlia where tongues once expanded ontologies: vital routes into mimesis are a pig, too many lit cigarettes flying overhead, an increase in crimes of passion (not naked with Marxism's jazziest flights of improvisational fishnets): chromosomes, my insane metropolis shaking with tight, internal bluejeans constantly reminding me that Iam a telephone: heads penetrated, the special blend of psychokinetic ambushdrunk quickly with what passes for time in this policecar, the back of which is neutered with alcohol and earlobes on a bicycle: allowing androids to disappear in the pulsatingfluid from the brightest pornographic light proves that the urge to experimentation's sky full of swords has the reddest lips, after all