Think we have the same toothbrush oh my heart is already beating let me know what color chair you like prevent the sweat can you tell i’m here that’s boss love the motion the sense of transformation hubie needs his check bro the most powerful formula ever created modern cartoonists draw eyes with a drug addled weariness that betrays the modern lights surge up and down a horse that isn’t real comparing the warm sun on your back to my warm hand on your back seems unfair like i was giving too much away.
Strangle me in thee ballistic aire of boston electric gagosian of invalidating fences employed to describe whatever you desire preprogrammed plague innocuous hebrew pockets distributed as though sewn into the bottom of the ocean by whom unhinged shocking applier of starts and brakes over intelligence or proximity america decides everyone was used to the name en plein aire so you see this house of email abuse so you bought a pound of nü modernismo but received a decorative set of abbreviations yes my father owns the gallery yes his father owns the studio storm clouds gather overhead tho not for us lol.
Flick of the wand jammed through some other preferably one who softly glimmers of affection rolls out to sea the only way to drink an ocean is to pain the wound the only way to ensure the wound is to be kind to lay beside preferably when tired and open love and bed stain bed clothes memory blindness must be taught.
i don’t want to hate read your big bang which is to say i desire to sniff your every sip of coke carry you closer to the end of beer of coffee of water i am formally interesting of but bereft baked into obsolescence the right hand no poems about rain when i drive the scents enter and exit like coffee shop customers once a virgin always a virgin no leatherback sea turtle devouring a jellyfish have a strange obsession strangely unobsessed i was a bad translator and a hell of a stylist trapped in colin powell’s test tube not being dramatic when i say the light dims vibrating elements start a tv network arch of river-wet stones above creek in vermont if you don’t know the noun its sentence is alien and uber modernity says don’t slow america morphs individual identity to bludgeon america grafts vision to formula warmachine america was nowhere america had nowhere
display in gruesome on performance in gruesome at performance their shadows mingle bottom reach for one their shadows above gush for one another of gum pink above gush french’s classic yellow of gum above unintentional of classic yellow constellation above can you see? the above two men can see? odds two men by the woman odds come here to know by the woman dancer’s you’ve come here to drip but dancer’s legs what they need to drip but repetition repetition say what they need say can be its language repetition repetition repetition of grey shadows can its own language perform of grey shadows gruesome perform display gruesome display
hung in the shadows on the western wall emerald cone boasting corona of dipped lunatic cotton fails serially with each attempt (once every three minutes) to intellect through short dire sentences despite being broken into labium labrum maxillae and mandible the discourse remains functional powered up and spread warm butter like the sun like the museum’s most popular gallery quantitatively as the reader fails to consider commerce here the radical mage conjures a million jerry saltzs dehydrate mutants no geiger counter for this kind of subjective observation through a starbucks window clearly the majority look onward and upward while elements class traitors sift form from function and some nonzero number of postdocs see a leg and writhe in pain and some nonzero number of highly marketable postdocs see a shark skin wallet and movement becomes impossible consider minus zero as a vector of possibility
a long time ago lived a lengthy brass ladder known for lying who unscrewed an exit sign named piero manzoni the ladder was high as fuck and craved a little zappo critical discourse emerged simultaneously from the academic journals commonly read by building inspectors widely known to be bad men damp men with all sorts of wicked contradictions hammers hardhats marshmallows cargo shorts and bibles held to account hauled up by their judith butler-lookin lobes tonight is the night it is impossible to judge these men at this hour but long ago judges went unmoored a mythological tap of little sausages enticing a blue arc back then everything was faked everything was cheated an ounce or two everything surreptitiously observed and tweaked their values modified until reality felt just about right
without transubstantiation of the aphid this reality slithers from open space to open source its brand much improved especially popular among college educated white liberals aged 18-24 who earn each rostrum feeds then snaps predictably with a super majority obeying basic digital commands retweet unfollow promote accept all the role of the curator has changed for the wurst since wuhan
impish discursive corona dip thineself ankle deep into serious intellect unbreak your reader fall from function into a nonzero bouquet of legs move only when movement becomes impossible
my love uploaded virus unlocked door can of the artist’s shit save my planet one salsiccia at a time
“My word / Hand caught in the door / Stuck tight old boy stuck tight”
‘Safety Lock’ by Louis Aragon
My word Hand caught in the door Stuck tight old boy stuck tight In other words Or The password please Many thanks Now I hold the key The bolt begins to twist like a tongue Therefore
Trans. Michael Benedikt
Source: Aragon, Louis. “Safety Lock.”The Poetry of Surrealism, edited by Michael Benedikt. Boston: Little, Brown and Co, 1974, p. 151.
Photo: Gerace, Joe. “Stuck Tight Old Boy Stuck Tight” Nov. 14, 2020. JPG.
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