Poetics in hyperbole, artworks like prose written in dorm rooms, like Ono’s instructions, like a koan, “like using tweezers to pull diamonds out of your girlfriend’s tear ducts.” Like a poem.
Heating pocket items to body temp artificially, warm string blocking a doorway, the exterior entering the interior, the items to remove fingers assembled in the average numbers of fingers, 10, transference, our childish innocence, items on a found grocery list bought in repetition several times in different places, like candies in a infinite pile you can take dispersing, like a disco dancer as stand in for lover, like a sink running forever down a drain.
Poetic: the disjuncture in a logical statement, fissures before coming full circle, in "making sense," the gap acting like a discovered lapse in the real’s rationality, when there never was one to begin with.
