Diarism

preboscid caryatid, y describshun.

there is a hole in its face where the nose
should've gone, but that hole is a monumental
geode-space whose central figure,

"the booger"

is a mangled, and "herm-crushed" white Buick 1938 Special
now used as a jalapeno planter, and as a place
where centipedes ambulate through constructed miniatures
as part of a ritualized divinatory system, or oracular
structurality. There is also a black kettle
for the libation of tea, which is not a Pu-erh, however
that's transliterated.

The nose has yet to form.
No questions are asked.
No requests for books, or readings
are given, or at least not many.
The entirety of Sodom awaits its mankibgel
upon the waters of futrel.

I quote Page 168 at length from _The Journal of Jules Renard_.
I scan and display Pages 124-125 from Hugh McAlister's
_The Flight of the Silver Ship_ from the chapter called

The Cradle of the Zeppelin.

I note the full frontal inscription:

1946

To Vallen, From Mon Duffy

I turn off the insurance for the old 1995 Ford Ranger XLT
and donate the good old boy to the Breast Cancer Society.
I think upon Jean Baudrillard changed by some magic
into a car of some sort, or a kind of laugh.

Why have I retreated into the history of Venice?

Why is the heart both opened and closed simultaneously?

Why is the message irrevocably distorted by interference?

Can Lucky find Old Paint and get back to the fort
before supper time?

These are the questions
that plague mi.

You gall my tongue.

And I see a dockworker holding a little ballerina by the hand.
Two birds just tried to screw on the telephone wire

outside my window.

I head down to SE 82nd street
to relinquish an old Oxygen bottle,

a
heavy
green
structural
hyphen.

I had let it outgas for hours yesterday,
but no end to its hissing.

Irontech got bought out.
They put in a poker joint.

Somebody's flat black Countach
is for sale out front.

There's a headshop on the corner,
and one of the best strip bars
in the whole town just up the street.

Real Indy.
Lesbian fire eater burlesque.

Kettle chips for breakfast.
The last of the great sins.