kari edwards

this is all too motionless for rubber words

this transit service, this kinesthetic theme park, the best routes with deep throated spikes, starved in luxury fat chairs, beguiled in all that forms the air to a danger larger than a bunraku master with a head of smoke, a drift, to become a fetish interpretation. this is the way that heralds more rigor-mortis warm time in high color regular shapes. a dangerous love of science. words lifted for magical seduction, exposed like the inside of my rubber climate control devotion, or detailed marginal rotations, or lines that meander wildly over general wounded dumbfoundedness. this was suppose to be the last stock joke, a remote staccato upside on the inside, a motionless terrorist in my private vaseline insomnia, buying groceries through the angels of a chemical process, located outside error crayons. a holiday character, not my history, or my history not the holiday character ignites determinist parallel text inside the only "I" I can muster, unable to resist the blows lifted from a provocateur at local tables and gauzy alcohol extremities, where all crave warm time machines and magical seduction.

the act of pealing takes over in a year of group soul, the arena, american trauma, rubber and tar, the principle of the insulator, a fragment prayer fallen from a collection of flotsam roaring in the waves, all the characters are a theme at the best of show for the final all cry of souls. I still look for a vacuum and 7000 oak trees in their pure reason.

Copyright © 2003 kari edwards

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