Author: Ron Winkler
Translator: Andrea Scott
The Case in Point, Rain
we perceived the fragmented body of water as an apparition
between the adjectiveslight and stormy.
it never rained only once per rain.
sometimes we sensed hormones aimed toward us.
sometimes tangible antonyms of desert.
rain, we thought, was the most drinkable weather.
mostly it rained away from the universe.
and simultaneously towards it.
oceans sailed by overhead. capsules
brimmed with themselves.
and the data of the first hour.
Field Portrait Referring to X
cows, yeah, yeah, they swaggered about like outlandish typewriters
though they weren’t cows at all, but pixeled black & white frames.
besides typewriters don’t make a mess on the lawn. oh well. it was the instantaneousness
of it that was important. along with a certain ease of mind. yeah, yeah,
it’s just that several dimensions collided and, despite perpetual actualization, they yielded
only muddled results: drops of grass, existential deposits not to mention
the migration of narrow consciousness. meadows over here and there the contorted message
of its horns. eyes like vacant planets. cows, yeah, yeah, probably
cows at the biography’s end.
A Call from Higher Up the Genealogy Tree
why of course you can have an outer space. in fact,
take two. as comfort blossoms or simply as a vice-situation
for a copy guest. how are you by the way? still
the same arsenal hunger? why don’t you host a jamboree against
the industrial gnawing? and please don’t forget to restock the joint with several descriptions.
you know how it is: sundays we’re closed.
i’m still half-asilt. i mean this entity over here
is o.k. except for the fawn-falsification, but i’m
still caught in in a (re)boot loop. keep in touch, now, won’t you?
particularly in the folder not junk.
oh and i wish you a nice contact reality. and always in the heavens
a stint of sun.