And was partial. Or was want of dissolve, theory
of behold in a blue line dancing to the iffy hum,
a dream of new pantries lost in the roar of peach trucks.
And then the sublime emerged in the wrong place,
stunned, as it always is, looking like a jet-lagged
tourist who doesn’t speak the language and only feels at home
in the airport. That was your eye blanching my borrow.
Meanwhile, fashion outlets have been selling out of sunglasses
and worker's uniforms. He had lost his condition in a movement
toward banners and was left self-same.
I’m kind of fond of this partial desire, your Eminence.
Freed of something needless past the guards’ flattened paint,
antiface of some repute feels perimeters and rows in dark.
Twilight to buy from those who know where you live
and will pass the door mussed at meany palming.
Loss of the midrange is a desire for everything. We
are no longer precise, like something only silkworms could eat.
Enhanced, zoney, the bringers of the prom mop
with their cherry pogrom and someone says woo
moving to the obscure second verse. What emerges
is a demonstration of ineluctable historical truth.
Isn’t that the exiled former president? I came in search
of a story but something wasn’t dark enough.
The change machine stands for our narrative skepticism.
These stale disrupts that no one sees bringing lunchables
and a bad moustache at the end to challenge the decoys.
Language becomes as graceful as wallpaper. Scientists are also
falling over each other for the prize of aptest analogy.
December, 1944: leaves Brussels with family for Antwerp
where they will live with his father for remainder of war
(much of this time probably spent in translating Moby Dick).
I was swimming so I didn’t notice that history had ended.
This is a necessary condition for the revival of the nation.
I’m writing now as a reluctant member of that community.
Hey, who took my smithy? I’m calling the casino.
Which is more revolutionary – the escape key or the pause button?
"One week ago, people considered Kim Jong Il a monster,
and now they think his glasses are really cool. It might sound funny,
but I think that's real progress toward reunification."
Just another dull quandary so drop the page and back away slowly.
Anyway, I’m feeling helmy and outcoached, sprawling corrected
and reaching for the dialectical climax that you left by the sink.
It’s part of the new cleanliness. Parachutes are aphorisms.