03 July 2012

come on in and take off yr skin and rattle around in yr bones # 8

a baby seal singing “a kiss from a rose from the grave” or something

quay-side: possibly,
a container ship of consular Dutch tulips—
i’d sooner
be a frantic fragment—
art not loved
w/in the maritime requiem of this rainy afternoon—
in the cartography
of found language...i.e., she later
became addicted
to potassium bromide, and the marriage
(i squint, unaccustomed
to this indirect sadness) the only fire familiarized
was in the disputed shrubbery
of some ‘Leaves of Grass’—
the transference
was probably a boat, or a metaphor abt the Titanic—
i think i was supposed
to love you, i guess—
but i was frustrated
i sd, ‘what nice incarcerated gardens’
then i mowed
the unresolved dandelions into detonation
in the backyard
for a happier splotch of how-beautiful-we-fucked-up colour
as beauty had won its casualty—
i daydreamed i was on Alcatraz
& a seagull sd, “let me entrust in you a story,”
the intimacy, if i trust you
(i love you so much, historically)
sensually cascading
the holy schizophrenia of fresh-cut flowers
as interpreted
as a shark attack—
the blood in the water, whispers, such harrowing solace
where did you sleep last night, justin?
i find a tornado
in my heart palpitations
its thesis
is a Koala bear having a wet dream in a Motown song—
no! — i’m sardonically crippled
i find an apothecary in my anorak
i’m fidgeting w/ the amenity that is a slice of orange
a toy periscope
bargaining for a ream of light—
my face feeling like Piano Piece #13 (for Nam June Paik)
torn up by ghosts, the presentiment

this is how memories are crowded clean
teeth shattered into proof, presumably...

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