the beard as a violin - somewhat...
some new exquisite
variation - a tease of the brass...
the girdle and "the thing in the middle"...
also...
the beard allocated to the outline
of the jaw...
   never being allowed to draw a hiding
flow... this unbelieveable scrutiny
of a... breaking of a swan's
neck...

    not that a milan kundera work
is out-of-date...
                 le rideau. essai en sept
parties...
  the times are out-of-date...
       my god: this is so blatantly
pointless that it hopes
to crease a letter on a bone...
  something near impossible...
                        
        it's just impossible to make
references, concessions...
fishing talking points
around the pillars of books...
       when... perhaps 1 from a 1000
will listen to bbc radio 3...
otherwise: what bookclub antics...
otherwise this suffocating
       self-aggrandizing
               litany of prose...

              it's such an impossible future
with such an impossible past...
and unlike passively listening
to the radio...
   to read a madame bovary...
to the pickwick papers...
             if it's not a metaphor for
archeology...
   then... there must be over 500 years
in passing...

                 a czech learns french...
  a ****** learns english...
and perhaps a russian comes
to grips with german...
                                   futility of...
what has encapsulated anglo-
pop culture...
                    it's indeed a shame
that i haven't read
a stephen king novel...
         but given the cinema suckling
and outpouring of: adaptations...
more of a shame to not
have read a dean koontz novel...

douglas murray
roger scruton - of the latter...
a book about wine...
and how... you never see wine
bottles on the street...
you might see an empty beer can...
you might see a 35cl bottle
of whiskey...
            it's very impossible
to read a book by someone who
is so well spoken...

           you wouldn't want to
deface the rhetoric
with your own punctuation monstrosity...
and it's not like:
but it is like these days:
it's somehow necessary to write...
something must be written...
it doesn't have to be thought of, prior, either...

it must be written...
that it is somehow also given
the preposition alias of thought it one thing...
but beyond all...
the vogue of the dead writers...
i want to imagine 100 years
from now... and how...
h'american poets of the 1960s
will fall out of sensibility...

pseudo-"poet" / proto-journalist...
well yes... it's just so: impossible
to not having to make reference as having
read: or eaten a laceration
of a turnip...

            eyes-for-glue...
and what's the glued toll stare...
                      then again: the only read...
pivot on the easily digested...
the striptease of skim reading...
my better than a vote:
a voice with "idiosyncracy"
of best: puncture(d)
                                 of punctuation...

for all the glamour of the sacrificial lamb...
best be riddled by
the counter... to sacrifice...
work-around of sanctity...
           also... "concerns" for the
impossible hand sequence...
when it's last waving...
   and the first...
                           crispy...
                   a monotony of
puffing up pillows...
                         image after image...
such a structure of
             hindering silk when
all that's best served is a dutch wooden
pillock: best believed
to be a shaman of the shoe:

walked around... pranced...
******* jolsted into captivity...
ruining the expectations
from how picasso borrowed
contorts off of a mandrill...

                  lost the contorts of the ***:
in gizmo-mode...
sold out to loot the... m'eh...
                     œuvre "or" the Louvre...
limbo-granny litany...
  skidding and slouching...
    kidding and seriously orientated
wtih the w'oah jingles...
            
     for there be a public liability
of conscience and the ruler dictum
of the squeezed at bow-tie...
            
         or that there's a concept of
clothes like
fur... when there's only
something pristine...
             breaking-the-break-back...
the fur is a dried-out
over-sweating into shirt...
            my *******' worth
of the subjectivity of death...
        when there's the lost and last
ordeal of a body cocoon
in:
      hybrid moth looter...

                   my new cool is loot...
a shadow a crease and
a shadow ask for beside...
the sun ruining a shadow's dalmation...
pocket the nuisance
life's long lost
reason to adjective life...

         slow-cold-and-hot revived
hinterland crisp.