Thursday, December 30, 2010


in some countries, cage matches are adorned with streamers
in the smoky head of vice, thoughts are riveted to origami propellers 
the vapors of sweat alone can turn industry
slow and sticky and dripping with honey is the voice of Romania’s queen of late-night infomercials
Boney M sang of the ridiculous tin
in the Tao of Nixon, you will see more engineering tips than in the handbook under a Boeing 747’s pillow
impossible to understand, but I bet the rumbling still got your attention?
for it may one day yield the secret of what the hawk sits delaminating on

the fight taking place in this cage is a neuron out of this world
it is a bucket full of Kodachrome rolls
once they had captured vulture foreplay
a Pez dispenser of dirty sound
she will be missed with a squeaky hysteria, i.e.
with the sound of a whole world twisting its collective sneaker ninety degrees
her reusable personality will finally beautifully atrophy 
the crimped muzzle of a mosquito savors its drink
like China’s esophageal missiles
the mouth of my country is shamelessly derivative of mole art

no longer do citizens have such fluid, impromptu, trigger-friendly confidence in their leaders
a moving picture museum responding only to one ratchet
learn from factories
they run on love

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