Thursday, April 25, 2013

This flute solo is very tame. (An abparahomophonic reading of Giacomo Lentini's Feruto sono isvariatamente)




First rootings sounds invariably like some
lover in for rooting or         perching cosily
while a cad will digress into dire conventions.
Do I question the work that goes into your
poses? Do sad icons         kneel or debt the
firmament?                  Come here deities,
and see how rich I   am! Etiologically loco,
the chalet's shiny    entry can love us more
than an odd          Assyrian ossuary with its
itchy chimes of volant contrasts hung within
an igloo monsteria of avant-ravioli; can God
not nonce the deity? Can this voice not rotate
easily within the     supernovi of dilettantes as
Pulcinello, the director of noisy house peccaries.