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Overloading the Machine
Under My Rug
October 27, 2001
Everything's great, thanks.
I went to write a letter.
It's insurmountable. Look over there.
No high-protein diet energizes
the wrapped loaf. The swept sea.
A four-cylinder
means two are striking.
Nose for the present,
you on time,
deliberating,
my favorite mug.
The soundtrack is out.
But if not for noise and valleys,
where could we debut? Mere
possession of facts is face.
But count some up;
cool and garnish.
I could feel my bloodstream panhandling my fat reserves for whatever last
traces of the vital addictol they had stored away, and I could feel my fat
cells turning out their pockets and saying sorry pal, there's nothing left.
-- Jonathan Lethem, "Gun, with Occasional Music"
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