F L U C T U A T I O N S

F l u c t u a t i o n s . I keep popping, on to a
rusted side of the mic, breathless, out of nothing. This
is how the real world of tombs, sheep lost in the road,
and the intrusion of a specially bred large insect
crawling all over the executive sugar of the next house,
this is the kind of mindset which is all too common in
our times, so we go on into ourselves, who slip away,
peeling and limping.

E x n i h i l o . The evidence for my continued
being is hidden in dirty cotton wool. I have just passed
an unfashionable sentence. Don't look broke, don't turn
your allosaurus back. The serene strangers now alerted
are tomorrow's dangerous deities, in a club formation,
to strike up through the coccyx, makes you sick, mate,
the bashed frogginess which hyperdrives my optic, I keep
on stopping, do the stop.

U n d e r - e x p o s u r e . Here we were, as far
as the eye could see, whispering in some flames, of our
own pop-up metaphors if you must know, so I keep
freezing up, the synthetic spider is being crushed
through old-tyme clockwork, observed through a Martian
telescope, don't fall about, the draconian code breaks
up over our heads in yellow trickles of wealth, down the
bloody sluice of nations, here we go.

A p l a t f o r m o f o p p o r t u n i t y .
Now we are really be talked into new life. A man says go
sign, we sing, I stick these words into the great
pudding of mystery. You say my archetype is just a low-
brain joke. We'll screw, scream louder, around that,
that slot. Permit me to pass on that, I have to time-
share my multiple leisure futures.

M e m o r y b a n k : I was going to put some of
my tiger in here, I mean that fast memory: a lane
glistening like mad snakes, a smell of pork and
woodsmoke. a convocation of sound men keeping their
inner silence well polished, events that were really
happening, so they'd use up more words. So, you'd make
a message of them, bottle it, it is a night light on the
high seas. Now fold the time into an oratorio.