Tuesday, February 22, 2011

OSCAR NIGHT


Grueling violin more than perfume.
Fingers crossed is an idiot.
Little green smoke especially.
An epidemic’s wavering parachute.
Star-spangled tomorrow.
Midnight blur road show.
Reincarnating itself in each spoon as antique chocolate.

Oscar statue in the glove compartment: ‘I am so over this spasm.’
Pork, but skeptically. The feeling of the easily attained.
The quickly discarded. More like phew.
More like shoes spent on scorpions.

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