Neolipic - The Argotist Online

Mutter
the shape your phone came in the
corner of my sink what tutters
at me eyeless faucets sees
me took you water’s form
and lurched up through that steaming
hole so what I said in the
melting screen’s a pointy thing the
end of V perhaps or maybe just a
cube of stinky air the nape your
storm named in the dormance
where I “think” ,uh ,mutters
Slime
that sharp white frame I tangle
in my grease smeared on the wind
ow’s hurt glass air again a
gain I’s starts the same o
bleak angle of my feet again
st the thinning walk of time
if time’s just rotting so the
noun sluffs off and gutters
on the floor your eye is smoke
your grinning talk’s just fine
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