(In sleep, Oh-Nine, she tingles, dada landscape ahead
No longer quite the present, nor future or past
She floats, effervescent, through the shards of glass
No longer in her bed beside her Mixi girl
In sleep, Oh-Nine is free to sing at last)


When you're bound by soul
To one you've known for a long time
Is there realistic room for complaint?
I.

I beg an answer.

At what point does love or the like
Decide for you that you're perfectly fine
Dissatisfied?

I.

I beg an answer.


(The Suspicious Oracle grins in the darkness
As tall as a building, but as a mutant face
Oh-Nine drifts to teeth and waits in place
Pretty, pretty prey)


Where is the line that draws the difference
Between the love of life and the love that burns it
Hot that your body aches to the touch of your lover
As they discover your weakness?

At what
Point

Does love or the like
Demand of me silence?
Decide in passion's absence
Dissatisfaction is for me?

I.

I beg an answer!


(Oh-Nine strikes her fist toward one of The Suspicious Oracle's enormous teeth. The mouth opens, evasion, into a resonant guffaw. Oh-Nine groans. It swells from the pit of her stomach, rising into a silent scream that leaves her gasping, wry and wakeful. She turns to face Mixi, and Mixi smells of tenderness. Of a quality once vanished, Oh-Nine is now replete.)