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Bobby Parrott

Bobby Parrott’s universe frequently reverses polarity, slipping his meta-cortex into the unknowable dimensions between breakfast and adulthood. In his own words, “The intentions of trees are a form of loneliness we climb like a ladder.” Immersed in a forest-spun jacket of toy dirigibles, this queer writer dreams himself out of formlessness in the chartreuse meditation capsule known as Fort Collins, Colorado where he lives with his partner Lucien, their top houseplant Zebrina, and his hyper-quantum robotic assistant Nordstrom.

We Change our Name to Charlie Rat-Pig just to Unlatch Heads from this Typical Suitcase Poem

I reassemble myself well inside the scope of non-duality, which we deem salubrious or at most, biological. Waking up as the same person who went to bed the night before would be like time-travel. It never happens. I mean, which “me” is this in here, anyway. Genetically, my bacteria outnumber, making this box of skin their cozy home. And then,

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