KEYNOTE

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