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Dank feckless greenhouse on the edge of the mortal universe1
everything here smells of "distant planet"
The vast majority of remaining waveforms have threatened to collapse
brandished popsicles in a Soviet bath house
My current conception of God (sad men fiddling 'round with atoms):
"I am become death, destroyer of
worlds"
Oblivion is not quite the word
what is happening here is consensual
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
I can still taste each blade of blonde hair2
a grotto made discrete via remote locale
The joy, it breathed like plant life
the lust now a mirrored coil
a silver pirouette of Percocet
re: the Venetian Pool of the City Beautiful,
I keep going back as if there were clues.
In and around it. Deep in the aquifer.
The overpriced houses surrounding The
Lookouts. Hedges cut to a razor's edge.
Oh, to pilfer and forage through
those gang plank memories. To
fasten something to them. Were
I not the demiurge of this wobegon
mindstate I would brand it like a
bitch bull.
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
ΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛΛ
And on the artbarf streets of Wynwood
the addicts cry out:
us too! We proffer our
tongues for the coven
of witches.
|
|
A claimant ruin. A nettle for forgetting.
|
\/
(Like you, We are epicures
of the dark!)
1 Ref# Dick, Phillip K. :: The Divine
Invasion. (Yah in
exile).
2 SOFT FOCUS [Pale green etched the flaxen, so strange a color. A shadow fax of neon.
Spearmint
whispers in the peroxide.]