Forty thousand TVs aflame

And not one less

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Atomized as it were. Like slipping into a slot. The entire deed of history. A gorgeousness of incomparable store. An experience beyond all experiences. The goddess’s eyes rapt. Speaking through traceless elements. Fortress. Empress. Weightless. Dressless. 10. To the 15ᵗʰ power. (1 quadrillion) years. Suddenly. Enthusiasm impaled you. A new sense surfaced. A sunless shine was born. The desert bloomed. Infinite immaterial. The moon melted in two. Space rolled back. Piñata lakes explew. Confetti endorphins laughed. Little Blip Wink’d. Its Rendezvoodoo Woo

Painting with sour milk / Is not art / And to say what art is / and is not / Is not art / And so the non artist / Unstrives to bring / The not art to pass / Unarmed with an atombrush / Unarranges the time / Unspoils the milk / Unbirths the calf / Unspins the galaxy / Unfastens the raft / Unfortunes the remedy / Unburdens your laugh / Kicks you out of the comedy / Kicks you into / The path / Shoots time / Without arrow / Talks sphere / Without fact / If you dare say it is this / You can’t say / It’s not that