Refuse/d words built into infinite forms of bodies. This collection is unedited; done in one sitting; sometimes daily, frequently infrequent.

Monday, October 14, 2013

lunchtime


tapping at tables
careening over half-eaten sandwiches
soggy from the plastic wrap
each student troubles
the space around them:
the world knows them
by the captivated noise of their
bodies, their cascading
thoughts, their tinseled throats,
their electric teeth.

abandoned beside them,
leather pouches burst
with scribbled papers,
the clock calendars their
wet skeletons, beating time
with minute tickings;
they gyrate their jelly-muscles
reinventing the environment they eat.

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