KEYNOTE
In one minute
I will be tied down to a table.
The cornered curve
that is aristocratic
in dimension.
A weaving elemental
delivery, the boxes
tied firm and with teat,
to a delirium of
new task.
An illimitable mated
course, of
just
and
why not. A
bang so calamitous
its
destruction
breathes the key.
And then sound, vibration,
they are not on the table
I am tied to, but
for any inclusion
to be veneered
for a window in your
ear
for a thrust inside a
must
this table
without
we can not commence.
nicolee ferris131115
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