my mind is an asshole always pitting against me perilous loops, paradoxes, false messages from a broken filter that serves some other master, the maker of ultimate entropy my mind is an asshole clogging the days with terror and lies, a deadbeat waiting on a check in the mail meanwhile grooving in lanes of muddy neurology, the…

the dead live forever. alfred hitchcock speaks a slow morbid poem in our room, what of his atomic descendents; are they spread out like dust, nestled in a nerve cell, a tree limb, or are they gone. 2014sm