Sunday, March 1, 2020


middling rubbed between the hands 
of deepening, vast gods--and this 
vista--and my shells & instrument 
are combustibly toppling, falling 
head-over-heels downstairs, as if 

bent with aching farsight & main, 
elective with the rolling blur of 
mistresses and their tresses, and 
well-dressed.. telly with biscuit 
and milk, places that lifted them 

by their bootstraps thrusting our 
pall within the revolving vibrat- 
ion of ground, distant reception- 
ist in heaven's antechamber takes 
notes agreeably, yet quite still; 

singers sing to us of the jilting 
cuts and edits of spilling mickey 
finns & ensconcing the reiterated 
bull that passes for peace around 
here lately, while our dear moth- 

er rocks, rocks, and rocks in the 
rocker of redundant rest, though, 
and i must admit that if you have 
come here for straight shooting i 
have many wonderful words for you 

to examine at your leisure, swift 
judgment to deliver never on sun- 
days and often the float of disc- 
reet scrawl, that just reminds me 
to smoke uncontrollably, shaking.

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