terminal and white and quietly parallel (at least one line taken from every poet on the site)

i hope i wounded you. i hope
under sickly corals scraping how the fluids pumped,
all broken down inside.
I'll lug the guts into the neighborhood--stray them
where all the buildings look the same and the
clammy night not so bad when i try to think of reading your mind:
the little tears collecting like stamps in the corners of my eyes,
tiny indignities and filthy,
turning into a weird scab on the side of my mouth.

realistic responses to your touch
made me feel my blood again.
surely a 5"x5"x5" tank cannot be so comfortable.
i thought it was lonely without the sun .

i hope i wounded you. i hope
you miss me and i hope it hurts so bad to see
old friends who don't love you anymore.
this sick satisfaction is worth
seeing your face again

proposal to NASA:

I.
fill satellite with Hall & Oates entire discography
and also a photograph of Hall & Oates
as an illustration on the best of our kind

And they say ''Hi, how you doing'', but is it really me, or you,

II.
launch Rich Girl I and await first contact with
various alien life-forms
that have come in hopes of grooving

Is it a star?

III.
watch as your family is enslaved by
the aliens that have begun to worship
Hall & Oates as gods. we are not worthy we are slaves to Hall & Oates

all broken down inside.