Tell me one more time.

One more time we could get off this, high rise
And you could lie,
To me, once more.

Just a bunch of kids falling off,
This mountain side.
Did the tide brings us in?

I take pride in my ability,
To manage chaos with reality.
We can never forget chaos,
If we expect, to ever
Secure an independent reality.

To die, to resurrect
Once more, tonight?

Let's get off this high rise.
And lie,
Lie to me,
Once more.

3D print me into
something real, impulsive
and distinguished.

successive layers
built around a
pulse and backbone.

fused electrons hardwired
to my brain like therapy.

we are broken and
the sum of our spare parts.

©Ben Ditmars 2014

We have engendered   them.

Our   babies.
Our annelids. 
Facsimiles of Us.
A gushing warm viscous  fluid
And  a conglomerate of meat
From the womb pods of our hive
Rush out into your  oxygen.
Our mass will grow indeed.
And,
Our perfect mitosis will repeat -
More beautiful
Babies.
Our perfect mitosis will repeat -
More beautiful
Babies.
8 become 16; 16 become 32
You (solo)
Must know by now; no  doubt
Individuality is a cold, broken loop
An anachronism of a bygone era

Pass through  Our membrane , insect.
And be born infinitely back through it.
We will have you spread-out in our warmth
Under our skins; apart of our million-chambered heart

Join Us.

Singles in your area are dying to meet you.

You don't know them, they don't know you.

Knocking on your backdoor, peering in your windows.

They've surrounded your house.

Come out NOW.