Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Nuts encased in sateen.
Track up to a chin of pure blank squares.
A Sunoco attendant freebasing in jammies.
Exit character through a convulsing exercise
(All people love movies with no significance
or any letters written onscreen. Or any letters
for that matter. It’s like lost art. Expensive shades
missing a screw.)
Tea with exotic herbs said to possess
impossible aphrodisiacal properties poured
for the envoy from Sunoco. His beauty has been
touted by mobs of queens. A vehicle is perceived
(Images featuring a yellow van create tension
in female audiences. Just as the words “I can’t
indicate” distress men. Cause, effect and common
good are not regarded as essential to the fix.)
Extreme close up of genitals and nail gun.
Curtains flutter behind the indistinct pair.
A sandwich, roast beef au jus, in the foreground
attracts fruit flies. Off screen an intervention
is taking place.
(Canned goods instantly evoke a sense of sympathy.
“I comprehend your predicament” they imply.
“The dire consequences to your penis are quite
identifiable. I feel that I know you.” Essays follow.)
A needle pierces skin. We pull out to reveal
a familiar perineum that appears to be growing
fins. Another jab, then another. The entire
penis swells and assumes the shape of
the Suez Canal. Anthemic music up.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Jettisoned with the sweets.
It’s less gross he said than watching her
eat with her utility mouth in.
A termite meticulously read
the latest account of the last
tiff. Jesus suckered his men.
And so either of two great griefs
has sent you back to wine country.
Jamming artificial intelligence
lets the air issue silently
from your self backstabbing
blow up companion.
In a cheap wooden box lie
the émotives and none of them
définies. Jokes like shouting Bonzai
in a crowded skirt. Destiny came in
bags. Bound with luck for Rapa Nui.
Your stone passport no longer counts.
Later Jesus called nine one two. Pairs of
spelunkers bounce across the vulval
steam drains. The operator uncut him.
One opportunity in a million found
its audience. Demons portraying the banana
peel in the mode of the dance.
But a man has no s. Many vie for the infections
proffered by the expressionless elk. Jerry visits
a vector near his lost plot of stardom.
A ladder douses errant flowers with the contents
of a pity burning lamp. The overall setting may be
laughable but he doubts the carpenters union
got the memo.
April 30, 1945.
Stuck in the sweat tree again.