Oblivion I, II

I. Impression



Time sips me from a straw.



I plunge into a waiting room

where walls discharge saliva.



Folklore ignores it and sits

patiently reading periodicals.



The floor vibrates; an opening

emerges, begins to suction me

inside, but is then detoured

by monumental armors,

carriages, and huge quotation

mark-embroidered mittens.





II. Recipe



In a sound-proof room,  

pour a tablespoon  

from a bottle of oil  

made with gene-related  

and familiar cerebral cortexes  

     (with an exception  

     to the famed,  

     who have oil bottles  

     also made  

     with cerebral cortexes  

     of strangers)  

onto a pan  

that used to function  

as a clock.  



Then add  

A lb of aura.  



Keep adding oil  

     everyday  

          and then gradually  

               every other day,  

                    then every week,  

                         and every other week, etc.,  

up to at least  

60 used calenders  

     (with an exception  

     to the famed,  

     who have water towers  

     for oil bottles,  

     so it would take them  

     more paper).  



After the bottle  

has emptied,  

pour acid  

directly onto  

the aura surface  

until it morphs  

into oblivion.  



Note:  

serve it well-done.  



To make sure of that,  

stick it with something,  

and it should give  

0 resistance.

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