notes on the recording:

somebody is singing to both sides of the rope

and i am now wearing that very underwear
as the bugle sprays sheets of ding dong
for the clapping landslide

my great broken things were piling up

the driver of course was in turn baffled
vanished and finally pulped by the clarinet pit
the last half of this bunch were already
taken by the suggestion of figure
which, i propose, is a french form of making
historians rich.
but here we are!
a final free form god surrounding the
smallest objects
a single plastic scrambled egg in her purse

sarahs flashlight runs across a painting
titled “a single shot of metabolism between us”