beautiful

and exhausted
interpretations
lay by the road
in a torpor
fanning their faces
and making diogenes jokes
in the hot sun
but alexander
never comes this way
he's somewhere
with his pinky lifted
saying 'caustic potash'
with a crisp dry and fruity
eton accent

/kauze/
this dam
decked out with deco angels
is purely romantic
or fascist
or strange
i'm in a line with a lot of other people
to see the sphinx-like turbines
in the interstitials
i hope the lights don't suddenly
go out
when i'm down in the bowels of this thing
with all of these
beautiful
sinister strangers
or if they do

white hot orbs to guide the dark
and long john silvers multitude
with every variation
of leg stick arm

adventure
begins
in the middle
of everything