The Whirring body
Of clutching chunks
Of metal
Where I unload
And feed
The other part of
My body
Is calling you:
Crevices of rampant desire
Are made out of rectangular
Bosoms of light:
The blue landscape,
The pink shire
The pharma-porno regime
A security device
Where all my every-day
Calmly stream
Every interaction are
A little slip
A little traction toward
Another good
(Memory slowly fusing
With oblivion).
Every interaction
A salty deep abstraction
That hover silently
Below your fracture
Your growing amount of $
And below below
Behind and somehow
God is the Unconscious:
A performing clown
That claw arrangements
Behaviours and bewilderment
And weave them around
Your bluish skin
Sauntering around
A smile
A feverish desire of being.
Why my eyes
Why my fingers
Are already there
In the drowning virtual xanadu
When my brain turns on
The world already unfolded
In this screen:
A devouring mirror
The primordial monster
That from its cave of flowers
Authenticity and plastic
Glows catastrophic:
Selling us Ourselves.
The return of the same
Become truly
The return of the choice
Choice withouth subject
Mind without brain
Where the era of climatic desire
Fall finally down.