Friday, April 1, 2011


the pinhole inherits a whorl
this day is formulaic
and the birds are not a chorus

but you can silver your bullets
and cram another mouthful of grapes

i mean more on, more on than this

i lost the will to open the mailbox
and the key is another instrument toppled
by excessive use

just think of all the empty shelf space
in detroit and how a cat can
manage its daily tasks
with no shortage of complaint

i will go tell a man my waist size now
and flock with the other cars
and eat the raw potatoes
and climb a numb moment, a flight
with scissors for its cutting hair
and the monuments will still be
washed before they're reconfigured

no more stone in the suit
a flank made out of pockets
and to find the hole inside your year
where you can stack things like this

like so many beginnings and mysterious pranks
take the one with the back seat
and the thousand gallon sink hole
or the fist tanking your eye
until it can only hold banks and blanks
like dollarbills and sighs.

i am not compute, will not make this model-truth

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