Kristen Orser

Dear lime,

For the purpose of getting oriented, I'll meet you at a right angle.  I might even make myself cuddle-able. 

                        Somewhere, another flower is saying

                                                            “My body is a thing among things.”  I think this too

and, seen through the reducing glass, why is this a bad thing?

                                                (Imagine a theoretical faint.)    (Insert a theatrical moan.)

Of the possible arrangements of bodies you have to choose from, isn't it sad you have to choose? 

I come into a shape that comes into another shape and become a series:  &&&&&&&&&&!

                                    Oh what was that word I wanted to use and say over and over again like a madwoman?  I wanted to shout this word over and over again until I fainted and then I wanted the echo of all my shouting to repeat until it was something like a chant that made everyone sing the same word all at once until they, too, fell over.  And when we all stood up again, I wanted there to still be the memory of that time we were all doing the same thing together at the very same time.

            :: Everyone is telling me so much at once and it all seems so beautiful, so much like glass.

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