>George Plimpton Headache (Revision 071820101722)

>I am sure I will die young
What cruel carpenter fucks near the reclined
And I know, George Plimpton finger-taps a cotton knee
In the packed back seat of a Silver Cloud
Though, having read through the obituaries I prefer
Philip’s pounding contrast, its striation

My dreams puncture film
Insecurities of proof regarding
Petty, pretty well-dressed bourgeois

Busy bosses promptly impress, remain soigné
And sew with their feet. But the ending’s neat: motion
Flickers a painted on Ka-Poe!, colors Bang!
Fall off the screen, the Rolls’ door Bang! sheds snow
The black matte inverts, awake
I am content to die so young.

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