This is called "Uniconic Women."
Careless flattery of each other and of our mutual slave market,
fool foolishness participation, meet at a corner
where I meet her and the baby, and some others,
so we can go to the bookstore together.
We are so cute!
And I'm young again, as floating in the springtime and crush
on someone in the float of coffee shops, of bookshops,
of apartments.
39 ships full of nuclear waste have been deliberately sunk
in the Mediterranean Sea with the aid of the Mafia.
We survey the wondrous careless, but this is what I now know.
There is a race of tiny humans in the bloodstream.
Our bloodstream, just like us, we think we are us,
but we are them, doing tiny things
like we do all the tiny things meaningless we do.
And we read the tiniest things from our tiny libraries.
Genes, atomic particles, sociohistorical
facts are tiny too. and we worship them.
And words like capital flows stand for the bloodstream,
and our tiny self-phrasability A CF drifts by two letters, C F.
Or it's a gene, or who live in your blood
with their intricate civilization.
I make friends with breaking up with his girlfriend,
wears a hat, and sometimes glasses, meet on the corner.
But he has a crush on my friend, a Marxist.
That's all right, I'm old like my mother.
The Dalai Lama is dead.
And she will read about him in the tiny library
of the bloodstream, instead of Marx or Deleuze.
Who will you read, Libby?
I'm not going to the tiny library in the bloodstream
anymore, mother?
That's why I'm writing this.
It will be my bloodstream.
Despite interruption, they have their bloodstream,
own tiny libraries that have responsibility
to greatness to the tiny blood world,
the waves of are haunting the vast second world.
But it's in smallness of overlapping scallops.
On the room of the image small of a house in California,
this happens twice.
Everything happens twice to me now.
I can't even remember we're in the annex to the house
that we have a housekeeper for each time it happens.
What happens?
A twice-ness an echo, a symmetry.
Is it useful?
I don't know.
And I've had rooms of semi-precious,
including my quartz of stones that matter.
All stones matter.
And these really matter, matter to me.
But I've given them away.
I'd have to get them again in their correct groupings, viz
rosy quartz with malachite.
Or is it something else green?
The quartz is the thing, the six lattice.
And the bit of blood there in the rosy quartz
is usually massive crystals rare.
So the symbolism still isn't clear.
But what's clear anyway except the things
that are revealed in state of.
Anyway, I have to acquire the stones again.
And then I think to retrieve my best necklaces from a display.
But the girls have take them and left.
Why do they steal from me like that?
I've only recently, recently seen
that they steal from and use me as
if I were stones that matter in a story that doesn't
have taken them to steal me.
And I wasn't that kind of person before.
No, I was always the same.
And that kind of-- what kind is their perception,
as if from the tiny world of their bloodstream,
full of incident display and no danger.
The best poets, dangerous lives to save by best necklaces
from that display, but make some dangerous lives
to save my best necklaces from that display.
But make so, make some more for myself, out of transparent rock
crystal or a drop of blood.
A blood drop on the rock, one drop, and all
their tiny books, tiny libraries,
spill out like lice eggs trivia into the world of all grandeur.
Is there contempt in the second world?
And what other emotional tone to it so rock-like
am I going to choose the most precious ones, the most
precious emotional tone white light,
spill blaze out from the aging body, bound white.
Light plays out from in.
Is the real body vaster than the tiny library.
Libraries, little books that squeak.
In the blood display contraption,
all the girls leave because they're selfish and stupid.
Taking my necklaces, all the girls
leave in their considerable dumbness,
with their causes from the sev--
And the bruised red apple's tiniest other most white books,
unlike dangerous lives.
Don't have to like all the girls, thieves,
the housekeeper speaks, and says it's because,
and says it's a sociological, psychological.
But it's because of their upbringing class,
and because of their ideas, and because--
But those are tiny ideas from the tiny civilization that's
taken over your bloodstream.
And you're working on it, working on it
to make it better, splice it, remake it, get it right,
assembling them in the same groups,
better genetic background to be as tiny as you
please in the 10-year project.
These six faceted crystals with their three horizontal lattices
and the one vertical one can be gianter than human
and look through it and look through it,
but it's still there.
Look through in conjunction with strapless sheath,
or other design in the lobby with its glass entrance,
its myriad mailboxes.
Several elevators may have gone to participate in something.
I'll go to the house to find him there.
Is in all this the true couple called the crystal twin.
But it isn't fashionable, and so isn't
in the bloodstream amid the tiny or the tiny books.
The woman, my friend, is a man, my friend.
The tall is the tall leaning over to feed a duck.
And they're the same one, my friend in the crystal.
And in the crystal is the couple, not the double,
but the couple.
And having an endless, endless period in order
to get rid of the tiny civilization,
might be the meaning of bleed the triviality away
they have caused me to wear.
And necklaces that might be the meaning of losing
those tiny times, sleeps near the other couple,
the manipulative one, but in a separate bed,
and a sort of hallway, and opinions,
I'm and a couple made out of crys
because everything happens twice.
And twice equals infinity, not duplication.
That's why you were others third axis
and the three held in place by the one,
so there can be myriad facets why
of the same crys and the massive rose
quartz, colored by a bit of the blood stream with its littles.
It doesn't all have to work the way a past mind, doesn't
have to.
The way the past says doesn't have to,
like a machine your famous invention, doesn't have to be,
doesn't have to come right out of the tiny, but is large
and just be.
I'm the quartz flowing, or the flooded.
The light mirrors, it happens twice,
or as all happens, twice.