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ward robe

On both feet, my life is tremulous,
on one all pervading
and never ending
it's either wish
but both come in death
I dream of sleep in my molestation

affirmation moling of compounds,
molecular bundles of natural wait
like resonance of two things
on the same frequency
I can't even find my radio
on my cell phone

I find I've grown out
of my techno generation
that knows how to tune
video machines without manuals.
With manual I sit.
But I'm not in it.

I irritate.
I'm supposed to read.
Be read and think fantasy
is for people with big salaries.
I lie in bed sucking my tongue
and swallowing my throat

on the only thing that makes me horny.
Maybe it's the big salary,
the small cell phone.
Entertainment is for poor people.
I create and live it
even if it's not real.