Presently, peasants are heard yodelling in the distance.
“It’s the strain, two liters of Mercury and never
enough flotation devices—how many more times do
we have to ask”: shards of bucolic pastry anchored
against cactus cabinets, Nantucket buckets. Sadly
to state a grew-quite-a-lot-since-last-look, nut-
flack visage advancing the caucus of Caucasians, the
too-near / too-far avoidance contraption destiny tears
(as in pears not peers) from Everyperson’s buxom
brow. God, so much thought to be poisoned with and Lusty
Lucretius gone all these years (Luscious Lucretia pawned
for a prized pony ride): alack, this blighted Border, containing
sectionate moorage and amalgamated heartburn, flitters
its last edge, applauds its appalling prescience. For
a fan is the best hat, and the void mind the finest
conquistador—valiant without prostration, generous without
justice. . . . never inflicting out of fear, but not fearing
to inflict, as Uncle Hodgepodge put it. “All gored
up on dickering and hope”—familiar freight to
the returning antelope. Sinking into the quicksand that is
a life, eyes already under, legs, cries; so a subterranean
probe goads or litters with predetermined inkblots and
galvanized regrets: not to get it ripped or not
to get it rigged, surely a pain in the caverns
of illumination’s erasure, vituperation’s cradle.
Gone are the glaze; now all hollow to get hallow
and break the bank of promise on the shore of
presumptuous ill will. Oppress or be suppressed or
cry hornets in a den of bumbling bees. The walls
are our only floors and the floors, like balls, repel
all falls. Adequate to any sense of sediment, as ‘garbage
heap’ exchanges for so-called overall mesh, or
disappointed not to have been, as ‘arbitrary’ reduces to
‘faker’, wallow to value of. “I love you
so
much and I hate this war so much.” Frames comparable
to apparently, and have dippier or ferrets
because you don’t, cleats beyond periodization
patched at nod to reliance—take a walk.
Sparked just the same, doubly blackground (“I’d
like to see you waddle your way out of this
one”) of an anyway able, especially wailing, no
matter how good. Does before doing, trends when
trend, inventories overload. Buzz is
the word, two on Tuesday, and then nobody
knows nothing but will cost but. Big Deal at
Contestable Parameter. Mood shift
or blurred gift. “If you don’t like it
colored in, you can always xerox it and see it all
gray.” Or else smuggle leers with guilt-edged
cheer. “You mean, image farm when you’ve got bratwurst?”
You mean you have a life outside this page? Not
on my greeting list: creation stares at null scooper. Dulled
dodge—but good to get hit sometimes. But surely the jumps
open chasms; yet the danger for the night watchman
is turning against the dark, or animating it with
demons and devouring them; and gain no sustenance. More
toward is there, added to some, is beyond and
present. Fat-bottom boats. Only fire will erase
the pain of having done or not done what was
done or not done. Sheep sheep don’t you know
the road. Intimate essence hurtled into prepubescence
and mangled by the lurch. Behind this metaphor
lies Descartes, pulled by a train of horses. “It’s
been years and twice as many tears.” Only the world happens
and racing to get near enough. Cornered by. Something
snapped—“like those nasty people with attitude do.”
Singing fa la la, fa fa la or doodling with a billy
club. A dab of adagio—humble and then humped.
“A sideshow freak suffers from fits of uncontrollable
laughter that prove to be fatal.” While according to Jones,
Freud was fed at the breast, as one would expect. “Hands
that have touched ham will never touch mine” (can’t
see the forest for the wheeze). Half
breed, half burrow. Or linked with
steam of pink: never the big
man or boy or bison, only the tongue-
tied tightrope stalker, witness
and then witless. Bounce back or bounce
by, the husks are salted and the fruit
is dry. Yet there will always be a there
whether here or ne’er. As opposed to
will include bending, funny to see, title
is (in the sense of bells) perfectly eliminated
demitasse or more inclusions, three-camp
world-weary, crazed by mostly had makes, pull
to find out the plug. Here’s the stage—
wasn’t any of them toys? Felt very poured, humming
and “stepped into,” not being as part of. Hook
in second thoughts, choices like thematic
trousers splitting perception in boomeranging tutelage. What troubles
is troubling—not dealing with disagreement as
disagreement but turning it into a test
of scholarship or morality. The fact is
none of these kinks are going to see red. Was
to construct a thin skin, in every
major way, take it like this, expose it and deflate
it. In an angry mood, why assume a realer
hidden truth comes out? Somehow when something—
you leap, is said would rather (“offensively
sloppy and ill-informed”). If I have reservations
they pale before the list of villainies you offer.
Time and tiredness, to coin a phase. Heaven’s
gate is nickel plate (shook up and blistered). It’s
very hard to invoke just how immaculate such reception
would have to be. & the volcano roared &
the people said this is a message but there was none
to say what it meant & the people wept that
they might understand & the lava flowed. Waxy
figures in an airbrushed memory of moderate
times and tinkling moral sensations—the chassis
with no suspension, the heart without its
pump. Blue sky that absorbs such feats
as these or those, caring not, nor
staring, immutable redresser of,
and the fallow heather that once was
treasured. Going not, then
gone. Lips like lisps—
sibilant and sweet. Or
vie for vision on a deck
of pearl—hugely inchoate
brick mixed with spit
and darn-near squawks.
For material is the in-
substantial stuff that is craved
in sprawl of
gravures—arrangements of another
day, cyclic hay. Where
beauty is not found for
want of good or bad
and echoes carry ingots
themself to turn upon
gradient’s unmitigating fold.
A cart that hauls in grandeur
grim resemblance of resplendent
tongues—swerving spigot of an
unappointed dome.