低调工业哲学机器人Pure.Extreme.Goodwill.How you want to go tired of it?

What glories would we? Motions of the soul
The centaur and the sybil romp and sing
Within the reach of my imagining
Such affirmations are perpetual 
I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs
Yet, like a tree, endure the shift of things
The night wind rises . Does my father live
Dark hangs upon the waters of the soul
My flesh is breathing slower than a wall
Love alters all. Unblood my instinct,love
These waters drowse me into sleep so kind
I walk as if my face would kiss the wind
Sudden renewal of the self—from where
A raw ghost drinks the fluid in my spine
I know I love, yet know not where I am
Will the self, lost, be found again? In form
I walk the night to keep my five wits warm 
Dry bones ! Dry bones! I find my loving heart
Illumination brought to such a pitch
I see the rubblestone begin to stretch
As if reality had split apart
And the whole motion of the soul lay bare
I find that love, and I am everywhere

It happened that day

she picked up a strange pussy willow

Her head swelled up white

and as soft as a pillow

Her skin, which had turned

all flaky and rotten

was now replaced

with 100% cotton

Through her organs and torso

she sprouted like wings

a beautiful set

of mattress and springsIt was so terribly strange

that I started to weep

But at least after that

I had a nice place to sleep