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
horse
pretty variations
of Mozart chasing robot women
"programs"
"sonatas"
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
Mannerist.
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
become
pure gallery grey
fetish chews its root
white hot chelicerae omen
now producing
helices
of cloned borg
Richelieus
phalluses like reptile cinnabar
cameras
blue halo
blue halo replication
