Saturday, March 10, 2012

THE ONLY PROPS IN BAYWATCH – ASIDE FROM THE CAST

in the parking lot outside, an angry, pitchforked mob
hunts a lone skinny fugitive mannequin
I saw the creation of my wig in a cartoon sweatshop:
hooks squeeze it on
half eaten off, a hamburger beside one of the sewing machines
scuttles away on its forelegs
here, dirty children will say that knitting body parts paralyzes

the only props in Baywatch, i.e. pairs of rusty
antennae worn by lifesavers in Wimbledon umpire chairs, aren't made here
the 'foristy' look of the show is due to the fact that the whole of it,
the booming, WWII sounds of sunbathers, the night settling over
the ocean itself, takes place in party fungus – except time – a person can
still enjoy too many hours of corrosive golf,
pussy buttfucks, and sleeping in one's dairy

what else shall feed the many mousetraps crackling around your
flat autopsy suitcase, in the very moebius vein of snail earlobe?

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