and we see we are the sum of our memes.
Holographic collages, collisions
make up the caves of my torchlit visions.
.
(B)
In the heart of Australia there are fissions,
forests that erupt out of the sandy
Simpson, midday when no one is looking,
and beasts out of Lovecraft with eye lesions
come hungry for roos they cull like candy,
and Holocene glaciers are so f*cking
grand and slow they frustrate time out of time
and wind, so hot, has weight and will whisper
songs of Then through golden didgeridoos.
But, now, the Black man is diss-possessed, his crime
65,000 years. Lo, a CRISPR
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
