the weeping machine

yeah, the weeping machine makes the other thing, makes the thing that does not weep, like a husband makes a wife/like salty makes sweet/like a wrong makes a right

I need you

tremblefaster, gangrenous you

I’m not made of putty

I shouldn’t have been

I shouldn’t have

I made a thing that made you

made you a thing that fits in a place against my clack-clacks

snuggle my ribs

I made myself

to undo myself

I made a thing of me to make a thing of you

now who’s left to want us?

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