britches

April 20, 1985

manipulate meyes
marionette

sutures can feel
sutures the sutures can
feel
neurotic
quivering
can feel these
bars this box
what is this
screech? got me tremblinged
these
bars
the sutures
can
feel their vision
can this
screenging silent
my squiver shaped
please the
weight is hanging
my squddering shape
please the weight
hanged is breeching
ear
drums my forehead
is that mother?
have you?
are you?

Constant
the gust through
polyrecorders
constant

can remove this heavy can
feel it fluorescent in
slivers from my
right scratching tissue
tearing soaked my only blankets
my head feels like
science my eyes are
theirs see
me their balding
heads see fluorescent
sliding icicles feel
the sterile this cold
suckle thing cant see
my habitat
i could be cold suttee
immolated and be less
cold storage too
empty stomachs to feed
shut
shivering up from
screeching
cold livered
science withdrawn in
shaking even this
box is quitted cold
turkey i feel
leaving al
ive ever blind
inned these burning
hands i tremor in
what are noises
not screeching are
blankets less shivered
never know a mother
not mechanical can i
suckle your finger never
knew a dermis wasn’t
icicle never knew a
conscious not
maniacal the marionette
dancing under meyelids i
feel how its feet look
seaweed with each
tug i’m strung and
unsnip first time i’ve
seen day
light can feel
blue it
is but isn’t
bars
of fluorescence can still
feel them free
from stage lights
playwrights
directed
life
lunch
for
termites
now its sea
weed in green free
melting freeze can
feel your fingers the
room
temperature warming
the sutures
can see filthy
snippets
soiled bandages my
blankets with oxide
seeing lost
adhesion the weight
and electrical
cordage my neurotic
my company doesn’t
sing me to cringe
more can see the
sutures felt

the puppet
removed
to tanaxpillo
to eat from
surrogate