Purposeful Belonging (9.14.04.)

A human breeze would be if everyone was
blowing on me I'd be okay with that.
Like lunch with a face-on-face in the mall
so the star fruit, a punch like teal but
the battery is punk, lest the grains surface.
As neighbors approach you go all ballistic
with uneasy references to guilt and disintegration. This
is a lot like the soap I used a mysterious abatement
of sharp feelings on my skin, real lacerations
during the delicate turning
or returning and just getting fucked.
It's okay to shut down the area
is filled with air. You are a receptacle for air.
You have hands and I can see what's
going on when you use them. I say hello or smooth
out the gums with shapes of my teeth worn away
like telephones or people in my life.
The keeper of these signs is more bitter than you.
My situation is the message that says it's
all clear. The pure gestures of animals me batty.