searching for
the pore
with EXIT
over it
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Finally the day dawned when a monopoly owned everything in the
So it went looking for its stockholders to celebrateBut they were all owned by it they were all dead they weresomeplaceTheir photographs hung in elevators which went up and down up anddown carrying nobodyEveryone else was in bed doing exercises to get in shape for noonHey the monopoly said let’s uncork the World Trade Center…
‘My age, my beast!’ – Osip Mandelstam
The light drifts like dust over facesWe wear masks on our genitalsYou’ve heard of lighting cigarettes with banknotes we used to light ours with JewsHistory is made of bricks you can’t go through itAnd bricks are made of bones and blood andBones and blood are made of little tiny circles that nothing can go throughExcept…
(Nonasyllabics)
of sea is a taste wept too daily,too depleted by freedom’s rupture;the eyes have other secrets to seeand deeper use for the detrituswithin us: the bright effluviumof ego dries up, mired as it isin wealth, that remedial medium.Blame it on fate, on beach memories–pebble put in the pocket or shellfragments; any memento carriesus as much…
From the trees the leaves came down
and that act enabled themsomehow then to reach the groundwhere they scuttered round our feeturging the latter to unitewith a baton as if that acttogether with the hands can claspa dowsing-stick cut from the samebranch from which we launchedconverging on gravity’s purge-pointat which point we merged to removeall consonants from our star-maps.The infinite consists of…
After your death,
a round animal, nameless.
I don’t dare speak too loudly,
that string is not too strongI think: and at times I haveto breathe. Or maybe I fearmy paraphrastic exhalationswill spoil the oiled perfectionof its sleekness, will mistover that brightness whoseneedle sharp point compassesmy every stray. I am asedgy in my way as it–as little-rippled, as subtle.Prey to vapors, to suddenicecap thaws, seismicdicethrows, the world wires…