once we imagined we weren’t looking at screens to be moved,
while
meeting a center point,
to make our moves in the world.
we were,
blithely,
following the star shed glitter of hope,
opportunity,
soaked with excitement: a squeaky liberty.
flung scope splurging…
as skin or
spark plug,
or pus
or
web bug
monitoring transition …
thus,
what does a male spider do
while flying in its rightful air plane
enpleinair
to the total,
the praxis of surfing,
its web,
so very form ridden,
via frail lines,
likes forced into form violence hidden
within the pink diamond, sagacity.
what a swim to unencumbered numbers:
Here, to fornicate the bewilderment of
gastrointestinal stress,
the celestial course,
architecture as well as the terror of music,
barren,
new metaphors to not be the lad of riptide,
but
to be riptide:
The Pink Radio Show, the stronghold
of
hundred years of solitude (metahaven)
cloud.
Hello Crowd!
–Martina Gertrude Siebert