posthuman visions:

my tongue, will you not the talking?
my brain, will you not the sleeping?
and my eyes, will you not the opening?
these, i want to stare at the bottom
of my mattress and still hear all.

To share like a wire,
a lossless realization.
a burgundy ribbon, golden silk,
without words and space to dilute
an intention clearer than air.

please bathe my brain
in a protein electrolyte solution,
removed from this illspinning axis.
where, as no one reads what they can't see,
grounded, i will know you in
kissing our shells, rings, tips.