even in eveniency, the passing of heretofore
rough draft
THE AUTHORS POLICEMEN'S UNION
vacivity, etc. a plugged nickel;
“Ain’t There Anyone Here for Love?”
*psychiatry,
*ritalin,
*brooke shields...
excutient,
i never stopt trying to seduce my audience:
a tableau
of candor & remorse--
oh, the persistence of romanticism
the heartbeat of a bird in velocity
( momentum did ebb
in the ****** but revived w/ the turbulence of
the blasé **********-- )
------>i interrupt yr expectations
for
benzedrine indifference
a boke of escaped words, inscriptions
confident w/ its agony
arterial bleeding w/ a trumpet mute
the battlefield of a wedding ceremony
"convince me,"
she sd, i love you--
at the same time, meanwhile, the death of
wildflowers,
or, LINGERIE ADS FROM THE 1920s
contemplation calmly vociferous
the foliage of light
an argument for the implication of closure
certainly
there is this impulse to
duck hunt™
tentatively,
a tangle of barbed wire, disrobed...
chapter & verse
w/ wire coat hangers, & old lace--
criticism re: baudelaire, or the melancholy of
a radiator in summer—
b/c a SLR is even more damaging than words
dear,
wm faulkner, a tumblr of bourbon
white phosphorous & the land of the rising sun--
experimental dance w/in
THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF WALT DISNEY
couching, somewhat
winds between 64 mi & 72 mph, classified
11 on the beaufort scale
"poetry is always somewhere else."
so i became a disciplined-disillusioned
eyewitness, wandering
among the grass & the flowers & the surveillance
of heart palpitations
contemplation is a storm front--
skeletons are there, too, in the alluring
RUMOURS wherefore
the nostalgia of the posthumously published--
the ? of rapture
here is where i hit the delete key
...it also offers a sweeping discourse
on thorazine & art,
seconal & religion,
meth & god, and ativan & evil...
"my angels have sex w/ screwy triangles," she sd,
how beautiful
militant, even; these horizontals
w/ stiletto melancholy
this town & country is a hive of bees in unfashion
-able compassion
its most fraught, edgy, & treacherous
exuberance
["it's weird how she looks dead, & i cdn't care
any less," he sd]
as if there was only this, ever—
yet, often
i am doll parts & doll hearts
a template:
say it, "baudrillard FOREVER!, you fuckface,"
then, at the pivotal moment,
i recognize
the pome’s uncertainty abt its own sentiment is probably
its most compelling argument
then i collapse
in her doll arms, coughing up blood
...throwing a temper tantrum w/ assorted accessories
throwing scissors at the wall
throwing houseplants at the wall
throwing a priori at the wall
throwing rain at the wall
throwing trapezoids at the wall
throwing fugues at the wall
throwing et cetera at the wall
throwing staples at the wall
throwing butterflies at the wall
throwing stasis at the wall
throwing velocity at the wall
throwing insight at the wall
throwing topography at the wall
throwing sleep at the wall
g'night & g'week--
