My Eyes Are Just Holograms

<p>Words. Simple and necessary. Like blood vessels or bricks. They keep us alive and beat us to death.</p><p></p><p>They lumber and stalk when stitched together like Frankensteinian creations when the slither and skirt like timid vermin or scared children.</p><p></p><p>Epics and lectures and litanies and lies are nothing but combinations of words. Twist them up and scratch out their meaning ascribe a new one over and over. </p><p></p><p></p><p>In this book I have fun with words I catch them in calloused palm and pin them to cork for all to gander at. </p><p></p><p>I glue them together in impossible angles and bend and fold spin and mutilate and somehow they continue to do their job they tirelessly work. To be words.</p>