Thursday, November 13, 2003

small dots on large 

a generation of alien responses,
a last people incriminated while dim tho proverbially rangy,
spot cleaned attic state (that is, a grove full of aspersions),
wild Picasso attributes cool breeze to fierce competitive nature,
calamitous posture while deciding on endpapers for the next one,

positions are plane, planets, plummet, worth tenets and scrape and feed and guff, more guff than presence, until rate of restraint hails the execution of certain known while reaping

not again, the poise of sure I am, the skid and proof, reeling to relax, for friends are dictations, rust on the reverend, field smudges proposing dynasty issues, whole seasons of elbows and magnified planets, even a deliberate moon over a windy condition, a fret of bunting in the wind though not so near the colliding armies who have only so much human in the walking, stretch out in desert to pretend the aliens are dark, when only light penetrates distance, humans certainly cannot

a bolt or vaguely met upon the highway, toward treasure and the reupping segue that contributes to political incest, the nature of who the fuck is what when we decide on patents, the soon more than ever Iraq or cut from the same cloth minimizing scent of damn it or at least good night Irene, the Beatles are dead, the Rolling Stones are dead, James Brown is dead and they say Billie Holiday or a lsit to grill and anyone can say that flouncy dance patience to sit thru since it has been advertised, or whatever one wants to discuss over slightly bombed papers, nothing neatly apparent but names turned into textual people, ears of victims strung together and worn around the neck says here's an age old way of looking

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