Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Tolerance for elaborate diction being minimal,
let me just say that in the very abstract space
of your no-man's-land – your imagined world –
this place you have made of your experience –
well, it's got its good points. Wood joints of
Pinocchio are always pinking up –- becoming
new and tender: quick: voluptuously seeping
into generating systems: see the tree ejaculate! –
and there you are again. I can't remember when
we laughed as hard as we will laugh tomorrow.
Surely that’s some counterpoint to sorrow.
The lines of you range strange and long, and I am
here to calculate and time your curds and whey,
your curves and sway, with my absurd subversions
of cliché – there’s no cheap thrill rhyme I won’t
appropriate to explicate your animal expectancies.
The natural condition of the Universe is orgasm:
get there how we may. Have the grandest day.