bell/sinthome.

alliterating bruce-lee credit se-
quence you blew the lead and have
overdrawn your account.. i'm sor-
ry for lying down in traffic, but
there's no place like home: faded

colourless wind turned up to pain
and print markings on your skin--
i lay down and i fell asleep in a
nest like making money for dream-
ing, and all this happened at the

official site of orbital connect-
ion, infrared life squeezing away
into the undiscovered country and
the underdeveloped real wild west
yet the tongue is tense, smiling;

claudia is the angel of returning
and running water and it's got to
have been a decade since i ran my
hands under the faucet and didn't
catch cold: flat, complex topolo-

gies are escaped from the centre,
silly, dizzying leaps that scream
like digital recordings southward
all day and all of the night.. an
instant ago, the future i planned

for today became tomorrow and i'm
not sure if i can keep up meaning
the rituals and ursprach cut into
the dance and the top is valuable
but the bottom's got wavelengths.