The Right Kind of Manifesto

Day 12! Kinda can’t believe I’m still going!



I bought a can of pineapple at the store like
it was a thing I might enjoy and now
it stares accusingly at me from the kitchen counter
because I do not know myself.
This is a golden age of suffering.
You can trust me because I am writing a manifesto.
I say with absolute confidence – I can no longer
hear the wind chimes on the balcony and so
they have surely flown off and impaled a nearby human.
The ones who walk by my balcony screaming about
the undignified death of radio. I am a grief-seeking
missile with my head loose and sparking and threatening
to fly at someone like a neighbor. Locate the source of pain
when pain is really the bug guts on our life-lens pretending
to be the cosmic microwave background radiation.
I would like, just once, to reroute the Large Hadron Collider
through my brain so it could teach me about my origins.
The one who eats the strawberries out of all your sundaes
and lights her candles for Ada, the Countess of Lovelace.
I am exactly what you are looking for, all you time-traveling
assassins! I leave my heart chakra open like a wormhole.


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