CONTACT
For Waltraud Meier
Earth to Jupiter. The 6000 needles piercing my body as I lie on my shakti mat shake my visual memory. Is there contact? There was nothing on the sky last night, but I can see now that Orion chased someone else. Not very far. A torrent of meteorites must have hit you on your head. Your head close to mine. Your small bone structure is vibrating. Numbers align themselves on the black. I won’t call. I hate telephones and dialling numbers is most quaint. I prefer other gadgets. My mind mostly. It can conjure constellations. In them my power over you is as endless as your love. No one can mess with Frigg’s distaff.
Earth to Jupiter. The 6000 needles piercing my body as I lie on my shakti mat shake my visual memory. Is there contact? There was nothing on the sky last night, but I can see now that Orion chased someone else. Not very far. A torrent of meteorites must have hit you on your head. Your head close to mine. Your small bone structure is vibrating. Numbers align themselves on the black. I won’t call. I hate telephones and dialling numbers is most quaint. I prefer other gadgets. My mind mostly. It can conjure constellations. In them my power over you is as endless as your love. No one can mess with Frigg’s distaff.
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