allegiance

one’s nature

one’s nature this box is a box. you watch the box, to see if the box moves. because it is a smart box, a box with good form, you think it may transcend its boxiness. still a box. the worst kind of box—boxing up all boxes. you watch the box to see if the box will elongate, or sickle. it could, after all, shoot at crests or do something equally parabolic. if the box could gripe of gross negligence, the box would tell you—it has seen a tangent. it knows what it lacks. the box would be the first to tell you it’s not the brightest bulb in the box. in fact, due to the box’s sun sign, the box considers triangles the most formidable of configurations. they never take any mess. always on the move. never well, ya know, lonely. the box has scooted over from time to time, allowing room for other boxes. but this may not be clear, as there seem to be sides laying around everywhere. then again—not the tidiest of boxes. consider this, box could have come in any shape or plane. when it hurts, blade. when it simpers, peanut. but a hurting box must remember that in the life of a box, a sort of shaved feeling comes with having one side exposed all day, from being the very box that is stored inside the box’s own head. the box blinks. folds. a corrugated nerve center has recommended this as a form of transcendental polygonic breathing. so it blinks and folds. blinks and folds. and we would never call the box suggestible. we would only say the box is a box. that’s what they do. 57 ...