come on in and take off yr skin and rattle around in yr bones # 6

dramamineFlowers in the wartimeWater

enemy artillery w/ nineteen-seventies newspaper objectivism

like a Fragonard

or a roaring BYG-Actuel aside—

everything is as it is & as it shd be in a time of happiness:

unbuttoned neck

w/ ascot, & a Great St. Bernard Pass Sidecar;[1]

a French-cuff shirt

replete w/ mismatched cuff links;

(no comment;)

a living room full of verbs & a drove of doves reading back issues

of men’s magazines—

everything is & this is Our Lady of Our Lover’s

Best Friends

(in autumn & other discrete Tuesdays)

listening intensely

to This Magic Moment by Doc Pomus & Mort Shuman as sung by the Drifters;

here, intentional fallacy,^[2]

along w/ the Death of the Author & the well-trimmed

rhododendrons give a polite scent

as someone mentions

a long-lost musical from the Great Depression—

the last words spoken

as a man w/ a pocket trumpet plays a dirge against an old rugged cross

as concussion grenade

sighs “wound my heart w/ monotonous languor—”

the distant dreams

w/ All The Things You Are as my new Desire gospel;

slagging through

jazz Mass enthrallment skronk:

The Voice & The Maieutic, a song for a Breuer chair doing penance

in the corner curve

humming Nearer My God to Thee—

O’ Love Song

this is where Sheridan sais, slashing through the ballade light,

“this is a poem for ******;”

A Desire named ‘Streetcar’ where the str. light

(spindled through the window)

sais Kuutamo Metsässä;

the barricades where the strep throat smooth jazz takes five;

a song for extinct or exotic birds

Aco Dei de Madrugada

after the Hospital of the late-evening’s Goodbye’s...

a horizon at the touch

of yr voice

---

[1] Grand Marnier instead of Cointreau

^[2] this is a story abt the hypotnenuse of a ghost