spittle.html


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            <p><span class="line">My body is attached to your body by a thin spittle of thought.</span><span class="line">When you turn away from me, my thought is broken</span><span class="line">and forms anew with something else. Ideas are drool.</span><span class="line">Beauty has been slobbered over far too long. <a href="howithappened.html">God</a></span><span class="line">is a tidal wave of bodily fluid. Even the flea has some</span><span class="line">vestigial wetness. We live in a world fleshy and dark,</span><span class="line">and moist as a nostril. Is conciousness only a watery-eyed</span><span class="line">romantic, crying softly into his <a href="lovesong.html">shirt-sleeve</a>? Is not reason</span><span class="line">a square-jawed businessman with a briefcase full of memory?</span><span class="line">I want to kiss the world to make it mine. I want to become</span><span class="line">a Judas to reality, betray it with the wetness of emotion.</span></p>
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