Skip to main content
Read page text
page 120
120 VII Pobrecillo Tam ‘Only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian attire, but let them be changed.’ – Shakespeare, King Lear III. vi. raise yr gme said my friend lucky in love since going online to learn moves that lead from geek to playa. go to the big baldwin city; life’s laid out like yr sister’s tea set that time she spilled the milk & didn’t cry for a real melting knife. chamoised my head & was going, radiant as a hermit’s cave in cappadocia; fled Him & my other dogs & wallpapered my sister’s braced smile in carious photographs. well caramel you can cross, pass, shoot for the stars, scrape sky for a living but don’t hang yr washing from the window – the old man doesn’t like it; & see that tree? it translates spring will bring again bread stone scorpion to hand; always afternoon if once you stand in His light. i prayed for lift-off & became a little horse shadowed by an always car; i prayed for inside, needed shadow like a crown on my head, lived off foods composed of substitutions. Lady of situations, i pray for liftoff, tailoring my head & bust to rise above this city of unkadare nature, pushkin types, fatalistic pedestrians who’re at the start of my game, who’re my true loves, if only their hearts were Gabriel, & not being borgesed to death staying off the drive-by streets, mummified in the seven sealed orifices firstnamed home.
page 121
Sycorax Whoops ‘I’ th’ commonwealth I would, by contraries, Execute all things […]’ – Shakespeare, The Tempest II. i. 121 VII Mother! plague of angels in the house – thinkin stranglin, oh shit, applied bakin soda remedies instead, witherin final refrigerator angels cloggin language like they’d free us from knowin it’s true further Father Zeus airdrops party favours, fractures syntax, gettin the glitter out of war where we’re struck stuck livin, sex existin, plane to sea. Mother, our cities! cold called on Aphrodite, AIDS worker, to blonde bond us again with triage ties of love. Maa! Thinkin writin. Turned over a new leaf to indict science silence siloed whiteness witness; was a portal, no paper; near as narnia, fell in; this darling darkling plain! It’s rainin in Ilium. There’s somethin classic about this situation which eye must not, nor heart, articulate, though bearin it, we do, and have sung songs whose vibration slips the mascara from those gods, though a man lookin down on us dogs us with kind thoughts he kind of attributes to us as tributes to him. Mother! plunge your tongue where ever with brokenness we’re deafen’d defend fed. Take apart our part. Launch in sighted darkness our pack of languages, fluid as hounds, all ready: bathed: riteful: already intending chase:

Page Text

View plaintext

120 VII

Pobrecillo Tam

‘Only I do not like the fashion of your garments. You will say they are Persian attire, but let them be changed.’ – Shakespeare, King Lear III. vi.

raise yr gme said my friend lucky in love since going online to learn moves that lead from geek to playa. go to the big baldwin city; life’s laid out like yr sister’s tea set that time she spilled the milk & didn’t cry for a real melting knife. chamoised my head & was going, radiant as a hermit’s cave in cappadocia; fled Him & my other dogs & wallpapered my sister’s braced smile in carious photographs. well caramel you can cross, pass, shoot for the stars, scrape sky for a living but don’t hang yr washing from the window – the old man doesn’t like it; & see that tree? it translates spring will bring again bread stone scorpion to hand; always afternoon if once you stand in His light. i prayed for lift-off & became a little horse shadowed by an always car; i prayed for inside, needed shadow like a crown on my head, lived off foods composed of substitutions. Lady of situations, i pray for liftoff, tailoring my head & bust to rise above this city of unkadare nature, pushkin types, fatalistic pedestrians who’re at the start of my game, who’re my true loves, if only their hearts were Gabriel, & not being borgesed to death staying off the drive-by streets, mummified in the seven sealed orifices firstnamed home.

read next page

My Bookmarks

Buy this Book
Skip to main content