o hand grenade red bodies of loring park,
you paintings of hand grenade bodies, you bed
with bodies and kneading and needing red hand
grenade bodies you bed, o and you the
bed and bodies, I sleep on the paintings of red
beds and hand grenades and emptiness, you the
hand grenades of the attempting and the receptacles,
you the womb of emptiness, the emptiness
for the womb receptacles, you the kneader of the
accidents and bodies and non-wet matches and
wombs, and you the wombs and you the wet
empty bodies and me and wombs, and you the
attempting yet starving, and the feast and
wet match starving hand grenade bodies and you
rasping and grasping and wombs the accident
receptacles starving, and you the receptacles and
wombs, and her the one I love, and we who cannot
produce, and all starving emptiness, and all
the bodies and wombs and grenade hands on
the paintings starving of this accident.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
o hand grenade red bodies of loring park,
you paintings of hand grenade bodies, you bed
with bodies and kneading and needing red hand
grenade bodies you bed, o and you the
bed and bodies, I sleep on the paintings of red
beds and hand grenades and emptiness, you the
hand grenades of the attempting and the receptacles,
you the womb of emptiness, the emptiness
for the womb receptacles, you the kneader of the
accidents and bodies and non-wet matches and
wombs, and you the wombs and you the wet
empty bodies and me and wombs, and you the
attempting yet starving, and the feast and
wet match starving hand grenade bodies and you
rasping and grasping and wombs the accident
receptacles starving, and you the receptacles and
wombs, and her the one I love, and we who cannot
produce, and all starving emptiness, and all
the bodies and wombs and grenade hands on
the paintings starving of this accident.
this is an emulation of Lisa Jarnot's "Ye White Antarctic Birds" below:
Ye white antarctic birds of upper 57th street,
you gallery of white antarctic birds, you street
with white antarctic birds and cabs and white
antarctic birds you street, ye and you the
street and birds I walk upon the galleries of
streets and birds and longings, you the birds
antarctic of the conversations and the bank
machines, you the atm of longing, the longing
for the atm machines, you the lover of the
banks and me and birds and others too and
cabs, and you the cabs and you the subtle
longing birds and me, and you the
conversations yet antarctic, and soup and
teeming white antarctic birds and you the
books and phones and atms the bank
machines antarctic, and you the banks and
cabs, and him the one I love, and those who
love me not, and all antarctic longings, and all
the birds and cabs and also on the street
antarctic of this longing.
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