Saturday, July 30, 2011

Gruff Weird Troubadour Fetish With Detachable String Plate.

following the young lady's eyes for a moment
their blank cipher of mums and sensual mass

i think of the wicked and ridiculous borg
taking mozart to a special cube of cake
piano chests winsome young instruments

i remember that if east germany fails
this young romanian woman

i'm not much interested in the gay love of poets
the technicalities for Jack Spicer, but only
will-power, character, that very large fallacy

we could carve a puma snake from mexican granite
sit in a cockpit pit naked our skin next to the hot stone
while sun passed low to back light the palms

your warm romanian slur
your charwoman journey's through stale
dank paris

yellow is not the color of thought
but the color of journalism and royal chinese

pretty variations
of Mozart chasing robot women
indecision in the face
the girls of eastern europe
as a voice to touch its phallus

the description of a fetish
is never the experience itself
Andre' Breton would take his clue from Deleuze
(Oh, these silly kids..)
This isn't my romanian girlfriend:

I would like to address where the work of Gilles Deleuze
can open up neglected issues in Romanticism. That is to say,
I would like to use Delueze to intervene in a particular figure
of Classic Romanticism: the figure of an interior self as constructed in poetry.

Vlad working at the Clorox factory in Georgia.
The Georgia of Eastern European Girl's English.

Southern English
and sexy Czech slurring.
No old bear's heads,
just the whole natural mistake of it
playing out

and the natural fetishes

the freckled girls
the red heads
the japanese women
the latvian girls

I'm just joking.
God is always a Mannered entity.
Look at {how} all religion is
at root

He tells us we must abandon all colors
sounds sensations and sensible experiences
to achieve the mystical view of life.

How did Jack Spicer come to rewrite or
rather think of bases loaded
and a player 'stealing' home

Plato's Phaedra
with enviable simplicity
attributes her own sensations
to the unknown universe

Martian Radio
my nipples harden
her cold breath on etched glass diagrams
the labyrinthine glass rocket
in its silo of cake
the rocket manse prison of the
mozart borg
chasing young hungarian hussies
through halls of glass holding
wriggling fish

fish-like notes of color
the slurring silence

this astral sarcophagus
of sexed cake
like green foam filling the ears

a baptism
in cymbals

the succubus grille-werke
we imagine SEMBORG

we take to absolute grey
our song
pure gallery grey

fetish chews its root
white hot chelicerae omen
now producing
of cloned borg

phalluses like reptile cinnabar

blue halo
blue halo replication