Bried Encounter With the Etomph

sleep fair caramel, sleep fair bondage, in the dusk's apartment, time's magnolia looks forward to no more lingerie for aeroplanes, thin creams venture out into semi-hostile glimmers, the sleekest lamp must hover hear forever in the dark its lick latch dogged by a pill in a sink, a melting felt up, leaves lifting to show the inner theatre capsule, the hideabed stage, the hammock stage lid for the pipe that burbs earthquakes, any jittery lines will do, video can be wrapped around elastic vessels and floated over oceans, submarine emitters are nice, especially in canvas, especially in pilgrim drag, hippie pilgrims, robot pilgrims, growing pogroms along the ledges where the hiss sits fretting on the frets which are separate and unconnected frets, uncollected they stand, the tiny near Rhodes, the colossal road, its dark voodoo filling, the béatilles of Chandler Brossard, Seymour Krim running naked down whatever thinly drawn line you highlight to read, its narrow relatives perched like guttapercha, figure as modulus, model as figure, figure as the unpronounceable relationality or real nationality, time has brought you low, or to this place on the mountain, the ziggurat was a waiting room, the name a priest's trick or bedside manner, who's to say that all the fascism isn't just a mercy smothering, i am, not because i believe in any of it, trouble, trouble, boil and bubble, which path did you take back there, the train went down into a deep helix, i like that, trains going down inclines into the ground, their figures change and they become snakes underground AND underwater, the meal is ground by two stone wheels that 'talk' together in the mist of the early morning when mother's metal is milk refining whirlwind, the acid rain is an overcoat you left here beside me as i write, a dog now sniffing inside the mirror, it can't be told the burglar glared at the pale white face, the red light in its mouth increasing, its fingers lengthening, the movies flickering and speeding up inside the nails, the feet like puffs of silk gas and made of tiny sentences, the string that was attached to its life garment came out, the dummy collapsed, the green faced balloon puppet machine entered the field a cube of grass ascended to crescendoes, dose to does, the pharmacon saint is dread or peacock's greed, pan now slaps your face, but you are asleep oh wooden cigar indian, and you hold a little basket of kazoos and toy canoes, skipping stones, skipping tones, the sky opens up for hassles.