Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Commons 13 - 18

Hiding inside our anarchists
and as scared -
saleable glimpses of
dying in 1993,
in acrylic zombie flip:
he had rented it all back,
& was wrecked,
stranded outside his favourite laws,
free as seas or
unbounded hail
as a spore left inside the language,
not a code made of letters,
but social utterance flaming,
everything was wrong but it happened.

Such thinking forgets
vast territories of our
sected selves:
“all is ours”,
the police power to hurt
& how to eat in hell
where my wits were lost
in splintered oblique english
secured the preternatural rain
grazed upon our
seriously, trickling down our
with malevolent archaic sound
"my bag a long knife carries".

Unaroused by official culture
history has been stashed
below a system of false brains
reduced to his ambitions
gold, falling
inside there are flowers
& we are bleeding
with intelligence & gunnery -
weirds have warped us,
his pronouns & his freak,
we are silent within
his good clean mind -
night of the ludicrous fink.

Oh fucking cosmology -
oh mad spit -
the ‘reverie’ is a
stop, oppressive line
“is this is that”
like a mystical shudder?
yeh, that’s hideous.
anyway, false, as I was saying
was watching my character
was yours,
became a clear system,
an impotent closure,
not saying anything in particular,
just sick, just everything.

Just lick (oh, please -
inside the most vivid
words had wrecked them
& their stunned town
(favourite epoch here)
ate its fabled sticks
& starved -
(would flash just like a
(insert enemy here)
(would flash just like a
meanwhile, what were you saying?
like, just go detourne yourself
(stuffed with walls, insects & teeth

But I was taken with stillness
& malevolent lords
would eat the living hail
back when I was still blood
intersected by police democrats
were threaded with hell
but I was still coins
like any stupid cuckoo blade
“the baser & poorer sort
such whose lives were burdensome”
I, for example
was quite simply scared
but anyway, inside this language
there is no word for sky

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