Monday, February 22, 2021

A Foregone Duty

 

A Foregone Duty

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DI65Ehi1t_0

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Apoplectic anorectic -

biometrically unsound -

New York City, once electric:

has it run its power aground?

.

Or has it always played

this trick of seeming sick -

doomed by fate to fade?

Oblivious to slow or quick,

.

when or then, again, before - it

knows what it is, it’s more.

How could horny New York quit

its favorite role as whore?

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But it’s mother more to moods

than sin. Outer and inner -

to New York they’re foods

of the feast. Loser and winner -

.

fall on it, savor its beauty's

perfection, its chaotic loss

beyond measure. Its duty’s

foregone: it’s the boss.

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Tuesday, February 2, 2021

Whispers




 I shall rashly suggest (in the wake of finishing this in the early pre-dawn of a blizzardy February) that this may be my best work yet. By which I mean, I had a helluva good time entertaining it, that is, allowing it to entertain me. The video recitation, which is part of what I like to think makes this fly e'en through the snow, is, in fact, done in whispers - though stage whispers of the kind that should be audible. Do expect to kick up the volume, though, if it's annoyingly too soft.

 

Whispers

 

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https://youtu.be/uYTZ1GrGXB4

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By the time she’d trotted powerfully out to plant her ass

flat on the floor close to the safety of the southwest corner

blissfully to suck up through a giant straw inside a giant glass

.

half half-and-half, half cold sweet coffee – oh, to warn her

not to drink too much, whatever it might be! – is all you

wished to do and would have done had you been nearer.

.

But now, from her sly knowing eye you somehow also knew,

with not unwelcome certainty, it could not have been clearer

that you’d merely caught her in the act of drinking iced sweet

.

mellowed half of this and half of that: no more. Your view

had changed and oddly prospered from this cul-de-sac: neat

trick! this heretofore unknown blessed invitation to pursue,

.

pursue, look into, voyage through, the unsuspected blithering

and blandishment and random glories in a heavy down-pour

of the rest. You look around: the sky and ground are slithering

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into another circumstance, a dancing fanciful romance: much

grandeur now arrives - more heads, which with yours number

ten. Six are yellow, three evince pink greenish-nesses such

.

as might be bound in and surrounded by fluidities of slumber

that you’re subtly kindly pressed to entertain will not so much

decree your destiny as be it. All this folderol! At last you see it.

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