hotlinerevision

Teal Gardner
A year ago I called a line for experts who can think
One answered me saying;

“Hello, I am an expert?”

I was relieved, my mouth watered.
“I called you!”

The expert cooed the microphone through.
“It is justified.”
I had pillows over my knees.
O! I had been suffering!
“Lack of Concentration Enzyme”, I have reason to believe,
Is hard to treat, except through Deep Isolation.
Before, I’d tried the Mind Machines, Mozart’s strings, and Methamphetamine.

The sun was bearing down over the land,
My tunneling posture was so similar to praying,
And I needed both of my hands, so put the receiver
Down on raw, fuming soil AND PRESSED THEM HANDS LOW
Laying in and releasing as if a victim were there, but not breathing,
That is what bore through the Lithosphere
I followed tunnel to the end of “down”, and stayed in dark

The expert has fallen off cooing to me
Little rocks sometimes grit my head, I am very far
The roots of prairie grasses Net and String,

I am fascinated by nothing, I am singing.