Our you and I is a mot-valise -
in packages - a statistic Zero crossing
where your kiss on my eyes were a null function
we now malfunction, deprived of subordinate conjunction
dysfunction, circular reduction,
you unbutton your presumption -
close to a washing compulsion.
Combustion of high numbers,
ripped of all druthers.
flipped vanity smothers
in disregard of others
smitten with propulsion!

short on the lip but wild in the face
your fuck's, a dirty gold
with the toenails crapped in your aesthetics
your fox's, a dirty gold


Poem taken from "Sleepy machines and apteral"
by Theodore Kitsune