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I wonder what net I can knit to capture you And what tints I can sift to loose this nasty hue

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

An explanation for someone

The iris is that corridor,
Dipped gently in the well,
Worn down trodden floor
I trod the floor of the corridor

And perhaps the corridor locus
Is no place to reside,
Beside glass where my iris
My corridor, enter the focus

And in this fortnight is a party
And in this party are lots of people
And the people speak things
And the things mean things
And flakes of the lexicon sully the corridor

And perhaps I walk in shoes empty
What of cavity
Or perhaps in cognitive entropy...
No, the shoes are just empty

So page through the surmise
Hmm, yes that is this
Notions already colonized
For such reason? I can not recognize

And my recognition is faulty
And my faulty is poison
And the poison, from my face, gush
And the gush, to your face, flood
And I lap it up with my tongue

Perhaps the box that drops
From in between my teeth
Is just a hostile prop
There it is, kur-plop

Perhaps the sight that oozes
From my iris ridge
Under your bridge peruses
Your bisect it uses

And the cacophony I oscillate is mercury
And the touch my fingers radiate is mercury
And the ground my heart quakes is mercury
And the corridor trod is eternally
And that which spills from your eyes, is mercury

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