RUMBLE PAK
not hydrant
not hydrant
hydrant
not hydrant
hydrant
decisions
recirculate
downstream
the firehose
sprays confidence
mechanisms
as tiny sparkling
drops
signal
encoded
in pseudostochastic
spores
ovis android
dreams as categorical
determinations
intervallic
lattices
machinic
mirrors
see what they're
shown and
grow on their
own
i can't leave
yet
i have to see
what i get
what it will be
next
something
next
something
next
something
next
something
settling in beside
something else
like
cherry blossoms
an iconic pair
of cherries
falling in like
but always not
quite
two of a
kind a
banana an
eggplant a
peach a
patch of "personal
difficulties"
strawberries
staring
at a
symbol unable
to decide
as the
slick fish slips
the net
playing hard to
quit
a silhouette
of
redemption
one
coin
for one
play
promises
the machine
all-
knowingly as though
dopamine is all
you need
to eat
just
one more hand just one
more than
blank
screen
of glancing
blows cold at
the rim
saltless k.o.
glassy
in ozone
dawn at crater
lake
mazama still
bubbling
the sight catching
my breath
ragged
then
later a gram
of feeling
flushed
on grindr
better
latency
very reasonable
risk
how does
a flash crash
tremor
manifest
an inexplicable
rippling
wrongness
not crosswalk
not crosswalk
not crosswalk
not crosswalk
not crosswalk
not crosswalk
crosswalk
"lines
don't define
you"
if you pay to
erase them
suggests
the vampire
pamphlet at
the dermatology
clinic
silently passing
convex
judgment in
a circular
trial of reflexive
rage
burning
interminably with
traces of autoimmune
magma
rumbling deep
within
the earth
the skin
the ice
forget it
a ziploc zips
the tree existed
before
the bacteria
to
decompose it
did
what
do you think
will have happened
next
will you have
escaped this
trap
into the parallel
trap
beside it
which alternative
universe
might offer
a better
chance a more
favorable structural
configuration
rerouting
the user has
left the
conversation
infinitely
scrolling
stories
concerning
remaining
unflinching
in the face of
exhausting
odds even
while heavy
rain
pounds
like a
headache
or is it the other
way round
you look . . . good
for your . . .
age . . .
. . . thanks
for being so
blank
a screen for
spiraling
projections
weathering
one
was it your
hand or mine
two
was it
fun or good
to fuck
off for so long
playing
spin
the bauble
in balmy tropical
music
jangling
locking into flow
state loops
of
anesthetic
simplicity
a world where
everything is
just
one more winning
hand just one
more then
maybe
i will assert
agency
by deciding
when and how
to press
the
single
available
button
a good look
back
at hands
past
where i been
would i been
with you
friend
and not
alone in this
machine
deliriously
swimming live
streams
of seams
burning
for a
hundred
years