I’ve lapsed and relapsed and I may be falling
from some tree. They’re playing our white noise –
shall one of us sit this one out? And which of my
asymmetries would mortals’ appendages frame?
The right brain loves to get its fingers in the left
brain’s hair. The left brain knows the right brain is
the perfect source for corset stays and oil for lamps.
I see your guilty conscience and I raise you or I see
your satisfied mind lazing in the purple shade and I
say, All the more for me.
Lest thou curse me in a blue streak I shall
not glom onto you. The machina ex deus is as
innocent as ellipsoidal, no rough edges. Masses
back the lack of sleep. A summer storm of next to
no duration generates the fragile shadow of the
dragonfly. It is a feature of my living language that
all consequences are intended, even this: I left a
message for the wrong Mahatma Gandhi. As you
may have guessed I’ve not heard back.
By Heikki Huotari