Tuesday, August 07, 2007

From "Lines in Space"

me and my homunculus

some launching bird packs up its paper wings / sounds
of the wrapping ripped from giving
over in the corner these herbs have no frozen moniker and
thusly we see them not but boy can we smell ‘em
y’know like kinda the invisible acts performed behind the scenes of the charitable fun run (once more round the plantation vicar? for which no credit that is due is given
my mind is functioning well
and I am happy with it thanks
its gift, in case anyone asks, is flight whose receipt, still valid, is some how mis-
laid no here it is! super!

The Power of Love remains
the most popular
name for a pop
song it is any wonder
you take me higher / relight my fire / my only desire / ancestral quire
I think therefore you are a lone magpie in wch case
we all salute you along with those who are about to
rock river wide expanse fragrant canyon paper scissors
nature the restricted nature the tedious
behind the scenes does not pertain to a staged totality such as the Yellowstone caldera
raise a red curtain
unbidden, like a dead arm, it drops
behind the drainpipe with the fake sound of real rats in the attic in The Excorcist who is not satan but are we legion—good—it says here that we are legion wch explains a lot and yet we feel that we are one like they do in a really powerful ballad
does not speak to me rather he speaks through me
wch I dnt lke p.t.o.
let me run this by you
the dull brush stub
of deadened stalk
on sunbuckled plains
black bird against snowwhite background of its own weird plumage
do you feel anything yet? neither do I

and then
at the last moment a
funny little man flies into the room ex-
cited ex-static ex-machina
babbling & hooting
“basically I just got of the phone with them and they are willing to make you an offer”
now you feel it don’t you? yeah it’s a very strange sensation
quindi, bring me my vellum brain slave
we are about to embark on a fantastical journey
patterned by the ardour in the chilly throats of gulls
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