what glows when the pupils pale?
what tucks in when the edge has left?
the fly is motionless without the mold
I'm motionless without a murmur

all I'm conscious of is you
you know I can't evolve
under desks it's a sweeter scene
and all your near ones, they hug each other
and your others are having the time of their lives
they're making pies and exchanging letters

the smallest ounce wrecks the balance
basic phrases are waxing general
we're mirrored but juxtaposed with a figure
beneath the microscope
I beg, no improv
the earth is wicked and fringes, snickering

all I'm conscious of is knowing that
we should purge the fictitious parts
we will purge that, purge this and this and that

-c.j.