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he wakes rubbing a splinter
in the corner, bathes and consumes
feeling more alive than ever, these days

staring in wonder---absorbing
all objects are transformations
all transformations are objects
i am three billion base pairs i am two thousand synapses per neuron
i am the dance of the mountaintop and the river
a network of interfaces, a fluid causal space
a lifetime given to each raindrop
from the depths of the abyss to the top of the highest tower

sleep shows us what it's like to be tiny souled
coming to, we put our hands back through the sleeves
we pull on our socks, we pick up the phone
to call the joint war room

wiggling electrons are striped across the grid
gating crystal currents
jumping the air gap to the visual cortex
signal washing over the weighted nets
latching onto memory, triggering
hardware and software

eyes, your hand in mine, a slight breeze and an internet connection
a pale jellyfish against the blue sky
up on a string i am a liquid crystal prayerflag
i am nothing, no one, nobody, no more

i am with my people once in a while
woven and combined we become more than individuals
our voices out there on the air
once in a while

sponges are multicellular organisms whose bodies circulate water
you cannot output more than you input, we are functions
eat your vegetables, read your books
fold cranes not because you believe in wishes
but because a prayer is more than words in your head:
time being our most precious resource
how do you spend it?
i think about him a lot

start somewhere. walk out the door
follow dead ends. pick up roadkill
visit the lake in the evening alone
smile at people. i don't know
do something

he believes uncomfortable truths
what good ever came of deceiving yourself?
he is out on the street corners calling
his little hands wrap around the camera
face passes close over the dishes, pulling in the airs
he is listening when you talk on the phone in the coffee shop
in your car he sees you putting on your scarf
he is the eye in the triangle, the circle within the circle
a hand pointing at the moon, he is the old man and the boy
he is the strange loop, the holy computation
the One Perfect Thing

the knife is always just off screen
he and i do not exist, we are ghosts
residuals of a system that no longer exists
animals addicted to the pain of not-being
i think maybe i'm starting to feel
that wound stitching

we are all lost here together and everything is connected
i just wish you would wake the fuck up
please just open
your eyes

Shuffle, replace, or draw a card.

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