Monday, March 10, 2014


 A drip in the lower kitchen
  waterworks of a newworld
   falling through every papered wall
    to the void flowers medicine of daylight on the rubber lots
     flash mob of forgotten orgasms
      a cliff-face climbed by magnetic paint
       studio of the half-convinced   with authoritative poses
        nude in the wax collaborative
         hair pouring with crinkles of white light
          high shelves of identical pillows
           in a bookless dream
            orgy of pasta touching pasta in a sonic rivulet
             stems spurt on the background sky
              the sheen of a photograph   disrupted by fiery existence
               lips on a thump-tip fawning
                narcissus in the side mirror
                 beard taped to the windshield
                  the volley of separate elevator sounds
                   and the organs all snoring internally
                    rounding the twin sparks of faint existence
                     in a figure eight the twice-pierced omega
                      to vaguely respectable figures
                       I was a molten recital in your parlors
                        slouched on a stool dislodging  your little cities
                         your glass conversations   and in the morning
                          I walked scorched alleys and observed
                           bright black tar in yellow truck beds wet
                            vivid poison   agent of nothing in particular
                             I sent myself out.

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