sorry about the cinderblock arms. 

The tea is lovely, with its heart glowing red in the sunlight. Threads of liquored heat spin slowly through, and films of haze peel off one by one.

At last some relief in an image. An onion, hermetically sealed in tupperware, floats through a sound to the shore of an island. Maybe ‘hermetically’ isn’t right for tupperware, but for now there’s the privacy of the word, its neutralizing effect. There’s Bernstein praising the privacy of Ashbery. There are tall silver hedges, that’s a different domain. Privacy’s where it all happens and I’m not sure I can afford it. I want a shelter but some are welded so to fool the inspectors. So then I’m the inspectors. I’m police. Alarm is ringing through the sound. Salt fluid’s leaking in, amniotic to the onion. No, neutralizing to the onion. It’s incredibly tasteless, this whole conceit. So then I’m my horror. I spring a leak. I’m completely open to current events. So then it’s time for the octonauts. Vegemals, prepare some fish biscuits for the large predators. Tweak, how quickly can you construct a new octopod?

An onion, sealed in tupperware, floats in a sound - sound meaning a gunmetal night with islands like clouds on a felt board and elements shiftable like that. The water an edgeless depthless gunmetal night. There’s a soft slapping. There’s a soft reaching sound beyond the water, at the shore. It arrives at the same time as nearly unbearable silence. 

So I read the interview with D’Arcy from the Smashing Pumpkins, the only one she’s given in twenty years, and thought oh, she’s crazy, too hard to work with I guess, and because she didn’t answer the question about whether she’d kept playing or not I thought of course they’d be wary about including her in the studio or the tour, but then the next thought was what if she’s right, and the one after that was fuck them she’s right! they’re pigs! and a real band – a band that could really save you – is one that would configure itself around its weakest member and find the music that would lift that member up and forever unfold her or him into a studio of welcome.

As though one day I got into a fight in a carpark and you got out of the front seat to call the other woman a fuckwit and then we embraced and agreed on burgers and then we even agreed on Hilary Clinton for a moment I paused Antiques Road Show to say it’s like you could knock on the side of her and hear the ringing right through our whole abyss play the silver guy immediately repeats knock just here on the side it is hollow we hold hands this is uncanny and it’s so good when the value is a surprise it’s a surprise

there’s an intermediary gland

into the crack of the milk-couch and why wouldn't you? bubble in little fish. big mouth little mouth. jingle jingle jingle on. a crack in a cup is every creature that learns to fly. wants instead to be home on the range where the dean and the metadata is someone else's bag. bigfellow do. pfft a conesnail and he pucked you. with his dart. now it's inflammation's bedtime. so imagine this is six weeks longer we can do it with mirrors. the moment flatumerous in silver attentions. lay it out. lay it out lay it out. it a layer unimpressed. that's not where I'm going into dark give in up. that's not where I'm going into warm crooks till morning.