And now we lay down in bed, together.
The bed, provided to me on my birthday, I now offer to
yr permanent collection. If I am bound to this bed, now
or at any time in our future, I expect that it will be you
that identifies the body and yr signature that officiates
it's release. As we exist here-now, on this bed,I am fed
dreams from the same expired menus. These formulae,
in all of their arrogance and totemic irrelevance, are a
bed of salt to which my tongue will return-eternally, in
perpetual, reciprocal alienation.
When I am finally released from this bed I will invite you
into my fish tank as you have already deemed my ocean too
But there is a separation occurring within our own bodies that is directly targeting our senses and the possibilities associated with them. Every time I reach for my own foot I feel like I am simultaneously one with my body and completely divorced from it--that for two extremities to connect somehow completes a circle and also makes the distance traveled from one extremity to the next so far as to result in estrangement. Maybe the answer is simple: I've walked home in the snow one too many times, maybe a chronic nerve condition; but the question is of Luciferian proportions - Why can I not feel my toes?