Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Commons set 3 // 18 - 19

my absence now / I am speaking
as a drugstore here, a constellation,
an irradiation / as in vocal granules
inside the arc of time, becomes
a silent circle / contracted out
the work of destruction, what
constellation, what - weird, these
strange and bitter consummations
have burst into fragments. Sorry
I meant to say centuries, anyway
now that each word is reduced
obviously to money, ie invisibility
inside my stilettos / I meant to say
interchangeable / a din of galaxies

anyway / I just ate the passer-by
via 2 or 3 executive crossroads
known as burning talk / concealed
in the claims made by finks
their preposterous symmetry
strange, flattering numbers / but
- cough -
but as I was out walking, through
our musical positions, we were
sweethearts & membranes
we were sorry and tasteless
we were trickling curfews, but
here, safe inside our offices
we are eating / yes / & feeding

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