Oct 19, 2005


3 shrouds face in 3
other directions &
the one eye between them

stares up
at a crack in the firmament
where lurks an ochre glow
& one gooey strand
descends from the pinnacle,

a pendulum, ticking.

The neighbor man says,
"Go fuck yourself."

& lo, the self skates,
fucked, along the black tarp

of the polis; each obscure
cave of circumstance. Here
are lights blinking, a velvet

tower full of handsome
lacks: barren
in the noon of Ramadan:

let them eat pastilles & pore
over vapid junk; light-
piped, the butt end of a Buick

at a jaunty angle
from the roof--casts
geometries of rain down

on Bad Boy Wireless. Eat
this peach of rotten

night. Reason in aspic.
Tiny glands on the back
secrete your stony home,

a paean to a simple
time: lurch up from
the tepid pool &
with your shitty lung.

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