In choosing my physical form, in choosing my spiritual form, I am assuming formlessness. 

I am a tender groat, a luscious roni, a mythological glass bottle, I am a button.

I build switches, I whisper into ears, far from fear, cycle around leaves, slice into beef. 

I burn widgets, I remove bridges, I am not thinking of midgets, but maybe you are.

Smelling the pine, feeling fine, finding bags of plastic, it’s fucking fantastic!

Better bend the piggy, hold my nib, freshen up the apples and the plums and the figs.

Wafting in the air, “Fuck you: I’m a bear!” 

Technical stints and mesotints and flowing ginger locks of hair

Tumultuous decisions, weeping lesions, invasive prisons and a carrot-paring knife.