Buttons

that flush fists of faeces down and away into the city of sewers, or that keep the city of flesh from the touch of fist, closing blouses above and the jeans below like this, or made when we fall from the kingdom of the womb, to a city of coos saying how sweet the babe, that light a lamp or tell the time in Tokyo, Paris, Madrid, any city of time world-over, chaffing the fist on the edge of the wrist, buttons of the world, bow down and be jealous of this:



She - pictured here puking city-sized quantities of cum all over her face - made me it to display, to link, to press. Not made for trading on the streets, or statistics of civic efficiency, or for some fashion display, or the rationalized controls of a city, and a tiny link no doubt; a link that signifies nonetheless something larger that exists: the city of friendship.