when we discover frequencies impossible to reproduce by human

vocal chords once more. don’t stop. so. nice. (I'm trying to express a sentiment.) this is her first cold person. (when will you stop touching me.) airlifted

 

 

in a helicopter, extracted from the heavens as a blot of dark ink. which is meaningless.

endowed with a constant array of diversions displayed in glass cases. seven disputed

cadavers, a flickering

                               over marshes. this is not an invitation to burn. once ignited,

 

taken for a body snatcher stealing organs for transplant. 

(you know I’d do the same for you.)

 

 

she’s waiting on a device to restore assurances. (you never tried to repair me.)

we recently performed an upgrade rendering faith or was it science particularly useless. (nicely done, Microsoft.

you can add me to your list of retirements.)

 

 

 

 

if she could have one functional relationship she’d be a professional stage magician vanishing small, irrelevant items. a kind of animal. a kind of seizure.

a paradise of physics where the dialog is perfect.

 

 

she hates the cold but is hoping for snow. all the better for freezing.

                    a squid or a whale, a kind of animal. (some of this doesn’t ring true to me.)

 

 

           he shook her hand again. a series of calculations involved in gestures signaling

what is desired or permissible. in reaching for bodies

                                                                  by such primitive methods. she has led many virtual lives.