|
an alligator pas de deux |
|
america is a global terror network. but let's not worry about that. |
|
america insists. ok, waddayagonadoo. |
|
brother sun sister moon |
|
cementary hum |
|
cetashus |
|
when i say you gotta go in your crib now comet he runs and jumps in the the big bed. |
|
copp rescues mickey maus from death by water after i throwed him in. |
|
dance of hallway souls |
|
a dog and pony show |
|
dogs are the best confessors if you aint religious |
|
envy of a fur coat is misplaced |
|
the eye of a comet |
|
fur arcades |
|
hedy lamarr |
|
hildy and her gator dance |
|
i believe one day the freedom fighters will win. naive, right. |
|
i remember those night volcanic roads in santorini, the sheer drop with a boneyard of cars, the drop in our groin, the intake of precipice. |
|
is that smoke or cloud. |
|
it is both. |
|
it seems dumb but i just thought freedom is only a struggle |
|
it's really weird, the thugs below are silent, burning incense. |
|
little prince |
|
looking up to mister cuz he's a genius at life |
|
loss of the unlived resides |
|
a good nose for trouble |
|
partying a little death where my diving platform waits |
|
later i will leave the maus adrift and you will say that's ok, he was already washed up when we arrived. |
|
the hunger for story is not a real hunger |
|
it's a fictional hunger |
|
but like belly hunger it can only be temporarily assuaged. |
|
and then the quest must begin again. |
|
Add caption |
|
the body knows no theology but it knows john donne implicitly |
|
the children watch the executions for training |
|
referring to the comedians |
|
the rime of the golden mariner. |
|
the school of waiting. it's closed? |
|
tomoro we resume the struggle |
|
i said, we gotta hide out here, in the west. the midwest. |
|
we only count our dead, |
|
bring what wounds freedom. what wound freedom brings. |
|
who knows who but ill be, |
|
|
|
one narrator reader alone in the cramped foreground of somewhere vast and vague, paraphrasing gerald murnane.
No comments:
Post a Comment