prokofievcobham & darnielle circle one’s crown blue llama equilateral winged what have we here seen? a photo in a photo in a magazine metaphor boils the pot after a jot spills its ink hung over an fim-92 stinger which like i said before is no metaphor at all al gore despondent speaking to late modal fords don’t forget mass production the cruelest beard a habitat in the atlantic city convention hall and curly beautiful ambulances free myself today and forever from human immobility masked up in constant whirls a plagiarizer a bad speller pfizer hopping on one leg from star to star i swing red radio to blue gamma alongside a humming horse’s mouth a plagiarizer paul reiser needle in the armed to the teeth breasts elbows draped over that still missile botticelli like a real goddess of love cuts my tongue into 8 poppy flowers and marches south to war for the winter who do you think you are tarantula swagger carpet bagger meowing hoarse chuff chuff chuffing at popular art cart me ashore saint bart of the ozarks
Diogenes the onion-eater, watched by dogs, sitting in his tub. By Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1860
The boy had never seen an honest man.
He looked among us every night he said.
He eyed each stranger like Diogenes
And took him with his lantern into bed.
He'd probe the stranger's body with that light
Search every corner of his flesh and bone
But truth was never there. He'd spend the night
Then leave him and resume his search alone.
I tried to tell him there was some mistake
That truth's a virtue only strangers lack.
But when he turned to face me with a kiss
I closed my lying heart against his lips.