the Sphinx

wants me to guess,

the rain wants me to associate

the flood asks me to count the stones and sunken headlights

the drought calls me to question

the fog asks me to remember

the snow tells me to forget it all

the hurricane screams of the folly of concise measure and to just stop

the mudslide whispers of the space of forgetting and the roars of being snapped into attention

the ruins call me over to gaze at the depth of incompletion and mutter something quiet and broken

there are infinite guesses amongst the maps , directions and the math of things, gaps too, some to break

des Tuileries

Le monde
n’ a pas

L’ inconnu
et nous
on désobéit

On veut trouver le centre de gravité


this story     in their own      tongue
horrifying.     And chorus     on the horror of

She described a broken collage of black butterfly-angels, flying and hunting, their shadows splaying the white tundra; in the distance an ice palace-pyramid as huge and steep as a mountain, crawled with thousands of these humanoid lepidoptera; and above, in what should have been the sky, a bleak crag of white light poured as if through a hole torn in a cave’s roof. In the last seconds she begged for her life, tossing her head and spilling maggots from the cavity of her eye-socket, then arched sharply as if she had been stabbed below the ribs.

One little whining beast
Whose longing
Is to slink back to antediluvian burrow
And one elastic tentacle of intuition

To quiver among the stars Underground horizon / stick floating marsh of the shaded sky / newborn becomes granite: / debris-like & frozen / parted alongside.

M81 MLStamatakisM81

Destroy the Universe
With a solution code


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