Robin Gunkel: Cunt Always Has More Nerve(s)...

Spring '07 TOC

than lobe.  Hood pierced with one silver bar(bell).  Imagine body drawn in proportion
to density of nerves.  Huge tongue and mouth....tiny hands. “Since feeling” like rain
“is first... ”

One fish, Two fish, Red fish, Blue Fish.  Side Bicep. Him Her.  Fishing streams of
consciousness.  Could be eel film.  Frame, frame, frame.  Images bubble to rise
behind eyes.  Fish and magpies.  Collect to nest, Nest to collect, Home to words. 
Build home of words.  Gin and Kin(kakuji). Beside silver pavilion, moss undulates
like rolls of belly. Lilly pad, pond, whiskered koi souse....  beneath.

Atop table, Siamese fighting fish flare matador cape...  flit, clit, click  Postmodern
ketai cunt pics. Liminal, red curtain frame flick....transmogrifies... more nerves than

Does your house have lions?  My arms have dragonfly, whiskered koi.  Last October
chased black, shadow damselfly through frozen food Family Mart.   Each night
walked past halogen strawberries, dead fish on ice, illusory “I” exiting shotengai
toward tatami alone.   Remembered memory, Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye. 
Her dark robe a cloak of lost things.  Arms and sheep pinned to folds.

Saran Wrap this bicep, tattoo moist, Osaka-jo, April view, Hanami, blue skies. 
It was a picnic.

Black ocean outline bicep deep.  Saran Wrap moist to keep scab or scarab...

that buzz and bump against lights each leaf a skeleton lace relief

EXPLODE ventricle white, heart empty stomach, under pain, of needling gun,


Pleasure Pain, it’s all the same. Tom and Jerry chase each other, all flying stars and
birdies, rising noggin lumps, cross cartoon network screen

So Sunday rainy afternoon café write.  Grease scintillates like gold stars on metal
kitchen walls.  Week without smoke, enough second hand smoke to induce second
hand high.  Packs of Reds litter every table.  Waitress’ perfume smells better than
smoke.  Mingles with smoke.  Is Baltimore not Osaka.  Is flower smoke.  One second
home. Teleport in her cologne.

Kagushima mukade fell like slinky coil to space of pillow beside his head.  Said
mukade, forgot native centipede.  Said catch them with chopsticks and burn them in

Said touch me and see without language.
Absorb light instead of reflecting it. 
Multiple surfaces of stored information. 
A moth’s eye or compact disc.

Pink hoary litchi, wilted dinosaur skins soak to turn water hinayana, saffron, yellow.
Squishy, ivory, slick. One sooth oblong seed.  “Juicy” said and Veena laughed
double-entendre “Come” “Cum” cold, succulent, sweet.    V’s dissertation scattered
cross tatami. Article 9, US, benefit of peace/police keeping?   Red correction grip on
pen, insert missing articles, anticipate incompletes...  can’t build to
structure...endoskeleton sense of sentences.

Multiple surfaces of stored information.

Moth’s eye the design for compact disk and absorbs light instead of reflecting it.

Multiple surfaces of stored information. 
She said touch me and move into being. 
Appears to be black.... from any direction.... a bat scattering seeds

The ribs are not I, the chest is not I, the lungs are not I.  As for the muscles, blood,
lymph, nerves, blood vessels, and tendons, in being referred to only by their name
own names, they are not labeled “I”.

Who would come to visit
this grass thatched hut of mine?

He bearing peaches and a ¼ quart of cream.

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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