definitive
juxtapositions w/ a metaphor as explosive as a powder keg in a hot-air balloon
emblematic
of the contemporary moment
of my
evening
the
ghost of “99 Luftballons”
enquiring
abt the
absinthe on my nightstand
sometimes
i dream
in the
curtsey of a European newspaper
between
the lungs
of a
cigarette as i dismember
slumberland
w/
unshelved books or a new compilation
of
misguided concepts
still,
in other intimate moments
aperçus
strewn
in more
lush & impenetrable thoughts
in
particular
the
berserk iconography
probably
.txt karaoke in Weimar Berlin
w/
Errol Flynn
psychologically
weathering
a
broken projector
recycling
angles like a rhombus
on Quaaludes
if the
metaphor had a sound it wd sound
like
this, i suppose
swashbuckling
through Wikipedia’s
entry on
Cognitive Dissonance
as i cd
never imagine the quieter moments
benignly
brutal
if need
be, as we bemoan
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