Saturday, October 16, 2004

Prophetic Blender

bitter dates grown in California are expansive a sieve makes more sense than pollen politicians god is the big bee that visits nightly, you mail order a new conscience and build origami mind your coloring and swing when you’re told to, shove when brains slack in your head and not so much risible as supposed. But who did do it: the sand you say, I don’t listen anymore to well-intentioned vampire stories of "as bad as it gets." Who? You hot assumption on a stick, you next of story who to tell and what Pushkin didn’t do, yo, we invest in coffin architecture. Chintzy barking swans among metal lunches then? and bicycles groom afternoon beaches whereupon little girls pirouette in bluey summer, this moon is a forgery and without our sheets did I suppress the magical innuendoes and preserve the unshared bed? lends itself to tragedy but melodrama is a foolish promise on a park bench an ordinary ole Walt heart among sprouting spring bombs-- skyscrapers aren’t tall enough anymore in this listen world croissandwich was the word she chewed and I specialists say too much data could be the culprit we dissect cocktails and grow fins. Once I remember telling someone of a cartoon cat I owned. Wed your mate already, that Joe is the best you can get--Benjamins don't get easier tax shelter ambush the Elbe and forests of the Rhine in AD 9--(stop reading) I don't listen anymore to the racist technology waiting by the backdoorwither and sob along with the rest of the pack and petty slavish icetrays await you at the end of another lacklustre day aren't Vietnaam there any Kraftwerk songs you could download for your ringer I go out under the night sky looming up someone follows me (go outside) their footsteps clacking along like a not-so-silent movie-- I didn’t do it. Pushkin didn’t do it. The Rosetta beeper vampire rose with the sun and closed without it but what matter to the dollop of catsup assumption if the dead sand gets in your eye, a young boy of dilated scorn not so much risible as bad for it. Well then who did do it, the boy, communist pizza washing his face mornings water cold as it gets in the East valley of youth hills of an old-age

--Gene Tanta/Larry Sawyer


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