candle wax on the green grass
or
the periodic multiplication table of
elements
“The
wires in the rose are beautiful.”
“Imagine
this as lyric poetry.”
hurry
up, we are, perhaps, dreaming •• of Central Valley countryside or downtown
Oakland, Ca. basement apartments •• Deutsche Grammophon conductors ••
interpreting “The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down” in thrall, imaginably •• to Looney
Tunes femmes fatales— •• no, that’s probably a faulty emotion •• we most likely
need San Francisco city council meetings •• as seen fuzzily •• through a pair
of 1950s Rembrandt VHF/UHF bunny ears •• or snow falling on weeping willows— ••
the slender legs of Tina Turner dancing the Varen’ka •• O, how we become
startled •• to find ourselves in our own personal snug harbour of such
renowned, ridiculous reverie •• correspondingly, i put a songbird •• in my
throat to wreak havoc w/ the voice-recognition software— •• this is crucial ••
b/c it is there we introduced the lyrical “i” •• as in: I SHOCK MYSELF ••
taking a Stihl FS45 weed trimmer to a bed of geraniums— •• yet, i never thought
this day wd come •• reading Blaise Cendrars on the Trans-Siberian Express
toward Vladivostok •• or, chasing a ground squirrel across a golf course in an
April rainstorm— •• “O, where will you find me now?” •• my lover whispers •• of
something collapsing & being built simultaneously •• as she pulls a Tijuana
Bible •• from her Frederick Mellinger of Hollywood Marabou Peignoir— •• the
catalog says it’s 1964 •• so i name a blue heron Deep Throat •• & rent “All
the President’s Men” from the old Video Station on Wilshire Boulevard— •• the
palm trees erupt, O what a tremendous time we’re having: •• Emily Dickinson
analyzing Donald Barthelme short stories •• Charlotte Rampling reading Dick
Tracy comics from the 40s •• on a St. James Chaise from J. Robert Scott— •• but
the typewriter ODs •• as i shove the aforesaid flower wreckage into a 1929
Pierce-Arrow radiator •• thinking of ekstasis & the angriest man in jazz—
•• the tiny particulates dusting •• my copy editor’s Duckie Brown wingtip
shoes— •• a Lefaucheux revolver & a Rand McNally World Portrait desk-top
globe •• i heard everything disappearing •• “i want to make mistakes & fall
in love,” i whisper •• thinking of her pretty blue dress as it liberates the
lust •• of many a wallflower •• one can speculate that his romantic hopes were
unfulfilled •• as she tells him to slow down— •• it’s the serial crises of
imagery •• envisioned as hand-to-hand combat w/ dinosaur fossils •• as i
adjudicate the brass tacks of another dream— •• “O, the wine tasted like a
marching band in the rain,” i thought •• as i had poured another glass of
McManis Viognier •• everything i will have done is symbolized in the
past-perfect future •• a paper full of treble •• it’s the matter my pop culture
references will be forgotten in a couple of years •• i.e., Willa Cather w/ her
Beats by Dr. Dre headphones
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