Lina Malina won't talk to me,
She's quite busy, can't you
See? Where this isn't headed:
Meaning, you can't discern
Just through sights and sounds,
Nor feelings, though the point's
Sharp
.
No rhyme reason, nor
Ever existence of the phoenix proven;
Season out of sync with little
Chinks! Falling a part
Ever... so... slowly...
Until The-Rapid-Acceleration reaches
A sickening boil of pot
Full of bleach, erasing without
Rewriting within.
Dialogue is conscious, manifestation
Of unknowing electricity.
Edits happen beyond thought, just
Past reach or clasp, unreality.
So it goes: I edit increases, she
Recreates silence never-ending
Narration without plot.
