Saturday, July 25, 2009
The Game Is Over (Fragment of a Film Viewing)
{for Phanero}
love, JW
cocinor sitar
fluid zola
a cure
la so fond
begin:
train in ruins
[lycaeum]
ka-mir-ra
purple samovar
maid moor negress
stealth [approach]
white
her fantastic crotch
communism
sound like
donkey, or head
[appeal]
'in the face'
me?
black grip [triste]
petite
sound of animal
scarf
or mustang
the tan road
'the red'
from hound
to hound's tooth
hairlip (a glimpse_
militaire.
an even younger
girl
domes passing by
'me'
a slight itch
near the base of the nostril
liquid.
disapproval.
voila.
the question
is one of sex,
or lumber.
a very particular air,
first dawn of sitars.
in the west
[myst aire]
pop art
china
caped racer!
they enact 'sphinxes'
plays, moves, gestures,
relations,
traditions
or 'purple closet'
[for drinks]
warm vagina cigarette
bath sitar
body
in wiriting.
golden loop.
fur
shotgun
breasts
"kimono"
taking time
to start with Zola.
'poet'
watching her body
his head
no.
no.
a slow denouement
encapsulates
the entirety.
green Mongol Maxime.
he is beautiful, grotesque.
[her squeals].
perfect!
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Sensational!
ReplyDeleteMallarmé for the Millennium!
Dare to drink in space!
cocinor sitar
fluid zola
The palabras never get that lonely feeling, must mean floating in a sea of space is good for their mental health.
Bloody genius, that's all there is to it.
ReplyDeleteGets better on every reading.
THE greatest poet of our time.