- Why not just eat a steak?
- It seems the ordeal will never end.
- Lights on.
- Stocking-footed.
- Move. But stay low.
- Under the mattress.
- Tip: A male condom and a female condom will cancel out one another.
- And, you know, you fuck on the foreheads of clouds and it rains.
[–I don’t have anything.
–You don’t need it.]
- Pepper grinder limbs. Breasts like Socrates.
- Malleable pancakes.
- My breath is rotten, yours thin.
- The dance of blood-n-guts, of ear-buds and $10,000 ice sculptures, cloud to cloud to cloud—clearly drunk out our minds.
- I should read more books.
- And this is we?
- You furl up your flower. You hide it inside a box of kitchen matches.
- Like when she let loose the lead balloons. (They
smothered the land.) - Like two slabs of bacon.
- Like what you hide profound, some crevice.
- Velvet—you know what I mean.
- Like the Family Weekend Golf Outing.
[the world a taffy machine, cranking out Tom Cruise and quivering knees. Tom buys a maul. a pike and hammer. Tom goes all teenager on the clouds. he lops the heads off the rivers. he mows the grass and mows the stars and mows to sleep the beauty. no more bubbling foam or giant water lilies or oranges spilling crazily onto the floor. this Tom Cruise, he’s a landfill to his own self. he’s a savior, etc. there glows a grass so green I sigh suspicious. we have questions, sir. we are preparing a memo. where is the bird going to perch now? (it circles, it circles…)]
- Like frigates, fleas, goldfish crackers.
- What folly!
- Shhhhhhh.
- People flow in opposite directions.
- Hoof-beats, a snow of plucked insect wings. Almost beautiful. (The rain curled into a ball. We slipped beneath the chasses, into mascaras of mud.)
- (My largest regret is all the people I did not…)
- Like coiled black wire.
- Like coiled black wire.
- Like clatter.
- Like coiled things.
- Where in the hell am I?
- Like coiled-up bluebirds, splayed out utensil (the cup of their wings, swirl of wind, the ruffling feathers; the telephone line shadows on their stiffening gaze). I stumbled upon a wet pile of bluebirds, all of them executed, no meat taken, their mouths frozen open, their tiny pink tongues, their yellow eyes staring in dull amazement—that did it for me.
too bad
too bad
[and Tom Cruise says, anyone want to make out? i’m bored]