by Feng


“Poetry needs more dubious protein” -E. Workman

I push on my teeth
to push it into my head.
My tooth wants to be slower and closer to my matter brain.
All the world is
not all culture
I am almost 100 percent tiny tiny microbe microbe
vibrating noisily and unheard.
A long time ago I got really intimate
and saw that they were all
very tiny floating plants.
I take pills everyday to make me grow faster faster
if I don’t have to feel pain
the slabs inside touching each other
I will eat more.
But when I dream at night my eyelids remember
that I am afraid
for not touching all the things
in china moving is touching
the truth is that so many adjectives are verbs even more so than
this lettuce tongue.
Feeling is revolting.
Moving is touching here also.
Touching is moving.
I tell that to the cut in half tree and my dead animal.
And my future dead brothers.
All the pennies and my sisters.
So my teeth are no longer distinct and when I taste
the death on my animals breath
gray matter flushes out of those wells of my facing
I am the breath of mineral movement inch inch fast
towards incest and obliteration.