Robin Gunkel: Little Earthquakes

Spring '07 TOC

Velvet Underground tripping, creeping all tarnished copper and wine velour into
morning, instant coffee exploded overflow in microwave.  Morning meets ritual.  Hot
press ground black.  Brass cubist boxes tarnished green.  I’m a cat. I’m a cat. Not a
cat, don’t rub your face against toxic oxide. Ooops. Need to have that Nerve Movie,
to have this Nerve Movie.  Understand?  Want some chocolate?  Writes itself around
the self, hand the seismographic needle.  Look at your splayed, warrior, bird insect. 
Behold symmetry.  Our symmetry.  Press faulting lines; don’t rip the grain of paper
how many times folded?  Enjoy cunt more without piercing.  Liminal — of or
pertaining to threshold.  Peruse with two contradictory meanings set within, to read
both slowly and quickly.  Water rises to the surface.  Witches to water.  Tall glass of
mint tea?  Whistle why he pees.  What’s the geometry of a star?  He says, How could
a man ever make that decision for a woman? Little earthquakes all the time.  That use
to have the daintiest sneeze.  Cheap Photoshop tricks and imprints of mindstream. 
She comes like a teakettle.  Tokyo full of little earthquakes.  A state of emergency.  
Beeeee. Baaaaa.  Beeeee.  Baaaaa.  Sirens.  No, no another monster.  Harpies?  No. 
Begins with an S, S, S, S S,  Succubus.  And male ahh, Incubus.  There’s a Japanese
website called succubus eyes.  Oh, it’s a fetish to lick eyes. Tears the purest
effluvium.

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