there are only 5 seats and on each end
are metal chapels. time slows down like a slug
climbing a vertical wall, or say, a drunken man
making his way towards the oblique recess.
the ignominy of an exhausted carburetor
is the orchestra for the night.
lots of women go in and out, out and in,
whichever is first, but the last is always
just as bland as any other truth:
we go, each foot splayed to cover measure,
and in the flash of a scene, gone.
I watch their skirts make gossamer tune,
like some flotsam or a poised note being led
straight to a trajectory disappearance:
the idea of the image is to glide
over them, over flesh,
over this fetal smoke that I will soon toss
right into the womb of nothing
and fall flat as a key from a tone-deaf cathode,
a spanked melodrama of television with dull cursive,
or as lithe as justly, the right camber of blues
ripping straight through my day-old denims,
peering through the tease of a thigh’s penumbral shadow,
the sound of the world being dragged into double-doors
echoing a metonymy: *silence the interlocutor, her mouth
full of birds. Dark birds.*
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 7:59 AM UTC
there are only 5 seats and on each end
are metal chapels. time slows down like a slug
climbing a vertical wall, or say, a drunken man
making his way towards the oblique recess.
the ignominy of an exhausted carburetor
is the orchestra for the night.
lots of women go in and out, out and in,
whichever is first, but the last is always
just as bland as any other truth:
we go, each foot splayed to cover measure,
and in the flash of a scene, gone.
I watch their skirts make gossamer tune,
like some flotsam or a poised note being led
straight to a trajectory disappearance:
the idea of the image is to glide
over them, over flesh,
over this fetal smoke that I will soon toss
right into the womb of nothing
and fall flat as a key from a tone-deaf cathode,
a spanked melodrama of television with dull cursive,
or as lithe as justly, the right camber of blues
ripping straight through my day-old denims,
peering through the tease of a thigh’s penumbral shadow,
the sound of the world being dragged into double-doors
echoing a metonymy: *silence the interlocutor, her mouth
full of birds. Dark birds.*
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